


The Beginning After the End

by etymologyplayground



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Beach Episode, Cultural Differences, Family, Food, Friendship, Language, M/M, Post-Canon, Travel, winry is a lesbian and i love her!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-02 15:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15798951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etymologyplayground/pseuds/etymologyplayground
Summary: "Terrible news," Ed says into the mattress. He feels Al sit up straighter."What, what happened?""I still don't know if I had a crush on Ling at sixteen, but I think I got a crush on him now," Ed whines. Al laughs in delight and pats his shoulder sympathetically. "Al, it was horrible. He asked me about, you know, my life and I was likeUhhhand he was likeSounds like you do absolutely no introspection, idiot. Also you need to obsess over things to live.Absolutely unbelievable.""Wow," Al says. "Did he really say that? That's a little harsh.""No," Ed admits. "He said it sounded like I hadn't figured out how to want things for myself and that it was okay to do that. Well, he did basically say the thing about obsessing over stuff. And here I am!!""Wow," Al says again."I know," Ed says. "Devastating."--Seven years after the Promised Day, Ed finally gets around to visiting Emperor Yao.





	1. heat sink

**Author's Note:**

> _O, the blood and the treasure_   
>  _And then losing it all_   
>  _The time that we wasted_   
>  _And the place where we fall_
> 
>  
> 
> _Will we wake in the morning_  
>  _And know what it was all for?_  
>  _Up in our bedroom after the war..._
> 
>  
> 
> — outro to ["the beginning after the end" by stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0X2XzF34KBM)

On the first day of the summer of 1922, after an intensely boring spring, Winry rolls over in bed and looks at Ed and says "So Ed," and Ed thinks,  _ Uh oh. _

 

"Yeah?" he says.

 

"So I know you talked to Granny about asking me to marry you," she says. "Again." 

 

He had asked back in 1917 and she had laughed and kissed him and told him that she didn't want to get married at eighteen, which, okay, reasonable.

 

"Um," he says, as he tries not to clench his fists in the sheets like an anxious six year old. Good lord, it's like six in the morning. "Okay. Um, any… thoughts on that?"

 

Winry looks at him thoughtfully, screwing up her mouth in that way she has when she's trying to figure out what to say. "I think I love you so much," she begins. Ed starts to reply automatically, because of course he loves her too, but she keeps going. "And you're so important to me and I want you in my life for the  _ rest  _ of my life."

 

"Um," Ed says, feeling like his whole stomach has relocated to the base of his throat. That's like, a good sign, right? Is he being proposed to? He feels good about that. Right?

 

"But you know what? I think I'm gay," Winry finishes.

 

Oh. Oh, wow. "That's not where I thought that was going," Ed admits, while he scrambles frantically for a better response. Six! In the morning!

 

"Sorry," Winry says with a weak chuckle.

 

"I love you too," Ed blurts. "And I want you in my life forever too. Whatever that looks like. And, um. Thank you for telling me."

 

Winry reaches up and grabs his hand, the one that used to be automail. "I figured you should probably know," she says, almost teasing. "And hey, I have another thought."

 

"You're pregnant," Ed guesses, only mostly kidding.

 

Winry actually shudders. "No!" she laughs. "No, nope, not that I know of. No, here's my thought: I think you might also be gay."

 

Ed's stomach leaves its new post in his throat and spreads itself out like a pancake all over his torso, leaving him feeling hot and cold at the same time. He thinks he starts sweating. "Huh," he hears himself say.

 

"Ed? You good? It's fine if I'm wrong. Or if I'm right. Or if you don't wanna, like, confirm anything, I don't know. I just thought you might not have... noticed." She puts her other hand underneath the hand she's already holding, so that it's a Winry-Ed-Winry hand sandwich. She looks terribly, wonderfully sincere. He loves her. He thinks she may be right.

 

"Hm," Ed says, as scenes from his adolescence flipbook in front of his eyes. "That may explain a few things."

 

Winry laughs in understanding. "I thought it might," she says. She shuffles over to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. "I have to go set up shop, okay? I don't have many appointments so you can come down forever. Or… if you want a day off, that's fine. We won't die without you for a day." She winks at him and slides out of bed.

 

"Okay," Ed says. He sits up. "I think I'm gonna—um, yeah. Take the day. Hey, so does this mean we're breaking up?"

 

Winry looks up from tying her overall sleeves around her waist. "Ed, my love, I think we've been breaking up for weeks," she says, not unkindly. 

 

"Oh," Ed says. She's right, he realizes.

 

"You don't have to like, move out  _ right now  _ or anything. But yeah. I think... this is it," she says.

 

"Okay," Ed says, feeling unmoored. "That makes sense. Um, have a good day at work, I love you!"

 

Winry makes eye contact with him. "I love you too," she says, and then she leaves.

 

Ed flops back in the bed and grinds the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "God," he mumbles to himself. He tries to listen to the sounds of Rush Valley waking up. He isn't sure how he feels. Like, sad? Heartbroken? Surprised, definitely, but also sort of not? He feels like, like a baby bird. Like he just hatched out of the safe shell of Marrying Winry And Living With Her In Rush Valley Until He Dies and now he's some gangly moron who has to suddenly figure out a plan B.

 

But out there—out there's the world.

  
  


*

  
  


He mopes around (read: quietly wigs himself out) for an hour, thinking  _ Is she really right?  _ and then  _ YUP  _ on a loop, and then he finally forces himself out of bed and to his office across the hall. Winry has the whole workshop and shopfront downstairs, not to mention the kiln and blacksmithy she shares with like four of their neighbors, so Ed gets the kitchen and the office to himself. It's mostly a library for alchemy-related books: reference books, books of theory, histories. He even has a couple books on alkahestry, since they're finally being translated into Amestrian from Xingese. 

 

He feels a little pathetic, still being obsessed with alchemy even though he can't actually do anything anymore. But it's just so  _ interesting.  _ He can't just throw it away after  _ seventeen years  _ of learning everything there was to know. So mostly he theorizes about new, weird possible applications of alchemy, like: Is there a way to use alchemy when you're attaching automail? To make it hurt less, or to make the new limb work better, or look more like a flesh limb. Or even: if someone lost a limb in a non-Truth-related incident, could you do, like, a  _ one-third  _ human transmutation to give them a new limb? Since the mind and the spirit are still there…

 

The problem with that one is that he wants to know if it's possible, but he also sure as hell doesn't want to be responsible for anyone actually  _ trying  _ it.

 

He pushes his research aside for the moment and pulls out a fresh sheet of paper and a pen.  _ Dear Al,  _ he begins, and then he stops. What the hell does he even say? "So Winry broke up with me because, get this,  _ both of us  _ are gay"? "What are you up to? I'm out here reevaluating my whole life"?

 

He settles for,  _ How's it going? I know I just wrote you but I have actual news for once: Winry and I broke up. I feel weird going into it in a letter but no worries: no one did anything wrong and we are still best friends!!!!! When are you back in the country next? I have some new theories I wanna talk about too. Love, Ed. _

 

He draws a little doodle of himself on the bottom of the paper, folds it up, and sticks it in an envelope. As far as he knows, Al is still in Xing; he was a couple months in Mei's little podunk province, studying with her and her teachers, and his last letter said he was gonna travel around for a while. It takes an average of maybe two weeks for mail to get back and forth between Rush Valley and most places in Xing now, since Mustang and Ling teamed up to make the two countries pals. He addresses the letter in both Amestrian and Xingese, then wanders downstairs to stick it in the mail. He waves to Winry and Paninya as he passes through the shop, and then he thinks,  _ Oh fuck what if Winry has a crush on Paninya,  _ and then he thinks about that a little more and realizes he might actually kind of be okay with that. Paninya's cool. It wouldn't suck.

 

"God," he mutters to himself, feeling like a dumbass. He puts the letter in the shop mailbox and flips the little flag up. Maybe if he takes a walk around town he'll go back to normal. Or come out on the other side, since apparently "normal" has meant "repressed" this whole goddamn time.

 

Rush Valley is significantly less overwhelming to him now than it was on their first trip here, what, eight years ago? He gets harassed on the street  _ way  _ less—both because almost everyone knows him by now, and because he's only got the one automail limb. He still carries a couple of Winry's business cards so he can give them to anyone who approaches him, but it happens less and less. 

 

Today he makes it almost two hours without anyone accosting him, which he considers a win. He spends that time mostly wandering around, waving to people he knows, thinking through—everything. He wonders if Winry is maybe, like, half right, and he's not straight but he's not gay either, because after all he  _ did  _ fall in love with her. But… it was only ever her. And in retrospect he realizes that he  _ did  _ have crushes on boys. (His outraged, indignant crush on Mason. Oh, god, his very brief and extremely goofy mentor crush on Mustang.) (Oh, god, Mustang can  _ never, ever know. _ )

 

He thinks real hard about it for like half an hour and then he gives up. Attraction is weird! Sexuality is weird. He kicks a rock, feeling sulky. By now he's gotten to the eastern gate of the city, and seeing the steady stream of wagons and automobiles coming in and out makes him feel a little better. He finds a bench and settles down to people watch. He does love cities—he loves seeing people living, doing their own things, completely unconcerned with shit like world-ending alchemy crises or his own personal sexual crisis. Also, cars are just kind of cool to watch. Like big black beetles. 

 

He's been zoning out watching the traffic for maybe half an hour when one particular vehicle catches his eye: a wagon drawn by a big camel. Ed isn't sure he's ever seen a camel just, like, out there working before; he's seen them in zoos, and he knew, logically, that they were pack animals, but in Amestris most people use horses. Ed watches the camel and its cargo approach, eager to see if maybe he knows whoever's driving. He probably won't, but maybe—

 

Oh. Well, what do you know.

 

"Al!" he shouts, jumping up from the bench to wave his arms in the air. "Hey, Al!" His brother's golden head snaps up, and he looks around wildly until he spots Ed. He breaks out into a huge grin.

 

"Ed!" he yells back. He moves the reins into just one hand so he can gesture enthusiastically with the other. "Come over!"

 

Ed dodges through the traffic and scrambles onto the wagon next to Al, and they fling their arms around each other at the same time. "Al!" Ed says again, pulling away after a moment. "I just sent you a letter this morning, I didn't know you were on your way."

 

"Yeah, I thought I'd surprise you guys," Al says. "This whole wagon is full of cool stuff."

 

"Yeah? You got anything for me in there?" Ed asks, nudging him. He looks over the back of the driver's bench, but there's nothing identifiably fun in the back; most of it is in boxes, and what he can see just looks like… parts of radios, maybe?

 

"Sort of," Al says. "It's mostly for Winry, to be honest. I spent the last month-ish in a couple different towns in western Xing, where it starts to turn into the desert. The people there have been doing really cool stuff with heat dispersal for things like radios and televisions, so they don't overheat. I thought Winry'd be interested." 

 

"Huh," Ed says, feeling like he missed something. Winry doesn't really do anything with radios. "That's… neat."

 

"I thought she could incorporate the structural heat dispersal tech into automail," Al says, when it's clear he needs to spell it out. "And then hot places wouldn't suck so bad."

 

"OH," Ed says. "Right. Duh. Sorry. My morning's been weird."

 

"Oh yeah?" Al asks. He makes a clicking sound with his mouth and tugs on the camel's reins a little, and the camel flicks its ears and takes a right. "Weird how?"

 

Ed slouches a little on the bench, feeling dumb again. "Winry broke up with me." 

 

Al looks down at him in surprise. "Whoa. Are you okay? What happened?"

 

"No one, like, did anything bad or anything," Ed says, flapping a hand in dismissal. "She just, um, well, I don't know how much I like have the right to say, but among other things she was like, I think you might be gay? And I was like Oh fuck. And so. Here… we are," he finishes lamely. He feels Al looking at him still, but he can't quite bring himself to make eye contact.

 

"Wow," Al says after a moment.

 

"She said specifically that she thought I, quote, 'might not have noticed,'" Ed grumbles.

 

"Are you—I mean, is she right?" Al asks.

 

"She may be right," Ed admits. "I've been wandering around having myself a crisis all morning. God."

 

"Wow," Al says. "It's been a while since it was time for a real Edward Elric Sulk. Are you, like, okay? You need anything?"

 

Ed reaches up and messes Al's hair up. "Nah, I'm good. Just gotta. Rethink my whole life plan, I fuckin guess. And Win and I are still, you know, best friends forever and whatever."

 

"She's also gay," Al guesses, and Ed shrugs, not sure if he's allowed to confirm it. Al pats his arm in understanding. "I kinda wondered."

 

"What, about her or me?"

 

"Both?" Al says, and Ed finally rolls his head over to look at him.

 

"What, really?" he demands.

 

Al shrugs, smiling helplessly. "I mean, I like to think I know both of you pretty well," he says. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but. I did kinda wonder."

 

"God," Ed says again. A comfortable silence falls as Al navigates back to Winry's shop, the wagon bumping and creaking cheerfully. Ed finally asks, "Hey, so what's with the camel?"

 

Al grins. "Isn't she neat? Her name's Astel. I bought her from some friends in the last village I stopped in. Camels are  _ so  _ much better for desert crossings than horses are, you have  _ no idea,"  _ he gushes. "Astel's been a great trouper. I'm almost looking forward to the journey back."

 

"Yeah? When're you heading back out, you think?"

 

"I'm not sure, but probably pretty soon? I feel like I wanna head up to Central again maybe, pop by Mrs Hughes and say hi to Mustang and everyone," Al says. "So maybe I'll be here a couple days and then head up north for a week or two and then go back east."

 

"Cool," Ed says in approval. "Think I could tag along on your trip to Central? I haven't harassed Mustang in a while. That bastard probably thinks I'm going soft."

 

Al laughs. "Sure you can." As they approach Winry's shop, Al clicks his tongue again and pulls on the reins, and Astel pulls the cart out of the road and stops. Ed follows Al as he hops down off the wagon and bursts into the shop.

 

"Al!" Winry shrieks when she sees him. "Al, oh my god, welcome back!" She carefully places the piece of automail she's holding onto a work table, and then springs around it to throw her arms around Al's skinny shoulders.

 

"Surprise!" Al laughs and waves behind Winry's back at Paninya, who waves and grins back at him.

 

"He has presents for you," Ed tells Winry, proud as always of his kid brother.

 

"Presents?" Winry repeats. "Where-what-why?"

 

"They're in my wagon," Al says, counting on his fingers, "they're mostly cool tech developed by Xingese desert engineers, and because I love you and want you to be rich."

 

Winry shrieks and pulls away just enough to grab Al and Ed each by a hand and yank them outside to look in the wagon. Ed still doesn't really know what any of the stuff is, but she seems to immediately catch on, pulling diagrams and little metal bits out of boxes and muttering things like "structural heat sink" and "copper-aluminum alloy" and "straight fin." All of those words are, individually, words and concepts that Ed is familiar with, but put together he's a little lost. He pats her shoulder and says, "I'm happy for you."

 

She straightens up and brandishes a little piece of metal at him. "I'm happy for  _ you!  _ You're gonna have the first really heat-optimized piece of automail in Amestris. Possibly  _ anywhere.  _ God, I can't  _ wait  _ to play with these."

 

Ed grins at her. "Aww, Win, you do love me," he says automatically, and then he kind of winces.

 

She shoves him gently. "I  _ do.  _ Dummy." She turns to Al and says, "And I love  _ you,  _ Al, thank you, this is gonna revolutionize hot-weather automail everywhere!"

 

"Aw, shucks," Al says, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "It was nothin'. I'm glad you're excited."

 

"I'm so excited I'm about to disappear into my workshop for the next week," Winry admits.

  
  


*

 

Winry disappears into her workshop for the next two weeks, actually. After that she starts emerging with preliminary designs to stick in the oven and observe, and after a couple days of that she starts bullying Paninya and Ed into test-driving them. The main problem, she says, is that copper and aluminum are the best metals for absorbing and dispersing heat, but copper is too heavy and aluminum is too soft for either to be the majority component in an automail limb. So she's trying to figure out how to incorporate one or both of them without sacrificing structural integrity or making the whole thing too heavy.

 

In Winry's relative absence, Paninya and Ed are more or less in charge of the shop. Most of it is just helping returning clients with little tune-ups—oiling joints, removing rocks from ankles, that kind of thing—and they can handle those by themselves, but occasionally someone'll need a whole limb—new clients, but also kids who've outgrown their current limb. For those people they drag Mr Garfiel in from his retirement, and he comes and helps out.

 

And Ed is fine with the extent of his automail competency most of the time. He knows enough to be helpful for most people. But every once in a while, the problem is something like: "here, open up my arm and do some sort of delicate automail surgery with, you know, the gears;" or some wire thing needs to be carefully re-threaded, or something else, and Ed has to take the client to Paninya because his fine motor skills are actually pretty shot. Before everything happened he'd been right-handed; after, he had taught himself to write with his left hand, but it's still chicken-scratch. Now he has his right arm back, but his brain is permanently rewired to prioritize his left hand now. It's not, like, a huge deal, it's just kind of stupid and frustrating.

 

Anyway, when Al mentions that he's thinking of heading up north to Central in the next couple days, Ed is privately pretty relieved. He's had about enough all-day shopkeeping, and he's had enough falling asleep alone in the bed that was his and Winry's but may in fact just be hers now, since they're breaking up and the whole shop building belongs to her. He thinks he's earned a bit of a pity party, and certainly a road trip with his little brother.

 

Al is the one to bring it up to Winry, because of course he is. And of course Winry says, "Sure, we can manage fine without Ed for a week or two, go have fun! Say hi to Mrs Hughes and Riza for me," because  _ obviously  _ they can manage fine without Ed. 

 

Ed and Al leave as soon as Winry is able to find a temporary assistant, which takes all of half an hour because practically everyone in Rush Valley is more competent than Ed is and also everyone loves Winry, which, okay, that's reasonable. Al decides to leave Astel and the wagon in Rush Valley, so they just take the train up to Central.

 

"Boy," Ed says once they're settled into the train car. "It's been a while since I've been on a train. Coupla years, probably."

 

Al grins at him. "And they haven't improved on leg room at all in that time," he says, stretching his legs across the compartment.

 

"Fortunately some of us are less inconvenienced by that than others," Ed says primly, and Al fake-gasps.

 

"Wow, Edward Elric, joking about his—"

 

_ "Don't  _ say it," Ed warns, jabbing his finger at Al.

 

_ "—little brother's  _ height," Al finishes generously.

 

"Mm-hmm," Ed says. Al laughs at him. They neither of them ever got as tall as 12-year-old Ed had fantasized about being—Ed capped out at 5'8" and Al at 5'7"—and while Ed is now, uh, twenty-three and not nearly as obsessed with his own height as he was at fifteen, he still keeps up the goof for old times' sake.

 

The train grumbles and chugs into wakefulness. Ed watches out the window as they leave Rush Valley Station behind, and as they climb out of the canyon he thinks  _ I'm never really gonna go back there  _ and he feels something break in his chest. All the frustrated, confused resentment that's been building over the last two weeks cracks open like a geode, and inside is a complicated mix of relief and heartbreak, and, you guessed it, the whole liquid mess of it is exiting his body via his tear ducts.

 

"Yeah," Al says, and he wraps an arm around Ed, leaning his head against Ed's shoulder.

 

"Sorry," Ed says wetly, leaning his head back against Al's. "I'm actually fine, I'm just. Guh."

 

"It's fine," Al says. "I get it." He digs around in his pocket and comes up with a handkerchief, which Ed takes gratefully.

 

"I don't even know if I'm gonna miss it," Ed admits. "That's like, the fucked up part. Like I'm gonna miss Winry, and Paninya. But not—none of the other stuff."

 

"Are you not coming back?" Al asks, which, oh, right. 

 

"I guess not?" Ed says. "I feel like if I'm not, like, being Winry's boyfriend there's no real reason for me to still live there."

 

"Okay," Al says, because he's the best brother ever and he understands everything. "Well, let me know when and where you end up. I'll help you move."

 

For some stupid reason that makes Ed choke up again, so he just offers a fist for a pathetic fist-bump. Al reciprocates with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo...................... welcome to chapter 1... this is my first time posting a multi-chapter fic Not All At Once so we'll see how this goes! this is the first ~9 pages of what is currently ~62 pages long and about.. maybe halfway? 2/3? done. GET EXCITED
> 
> this fic is gonna have a lot of chapter notes/thoughts/counterfactuals LMAO so get ready for THAT. i rly am the bitch whose background research for a fic involves logging onto jstor and like, using class pages from the university of washington chinese architecture class. if you're lucky i may even throw together a full bibliography
> 
> ANYWAY, here are my extremely sparse notes for chapter 1! just wait til we get to xing then u'll be sorry  
> \- winry IS a lesbian THANK you god  
> \- sorry that im an english major and the last physical science class i took was like sophomore year of high school. i did some googling but i have WAY more patience for historical research than like, engineering lmao  
> \- winry is so smart


	2. spill over

The rest of the train ride is pretty uneventful. Ed stops weeping like a baby and then he and Al just shoot the shit, gossiping about old friends and acquaintances. Mei, of course, is doing well; she and Al have been researching how to synthesize alchemy and alkahestry back into one practice, which sounds so cool and interesting and Ed wishes he could participate in a practical way. Mei is also being pursued by like eight different suitors, which Ed thinks is amusing and horrifying until he does the math and realizes that, yes, in fact, she's eighteen now and technically of marriageable age.

 

"Good God," he says. Al laughs in agreement. They'd established years ago that, regardless of Mei's old goofy crush on Al, she is in fact kind of a little sister figure to both of them ("The little sister I never knew I didn't want," Ed had said). Al especially feels a little protective of her, so the whole suitor situation is just as weird to him as it is to Ed.

 

It turns out Mei still corresponds regularly with "The Person Formerly Known As Scar," who still hasn't latched onto any new name but seems to be referred to by most people as "my friend" or "our friend," which is kind of—nice. Touching, or something. From what Al's picked up from Mei, it sounds like he really is doing a lot of good work in Ishval. Ed won't ever forgive him for killing the Rockbells, but… it's still good.

 

They're quiet for a while after that, watching trees and houses speed by. Then Ed says, "I'm sorry, I just can't wrap my mind around the idea that multiple people would go out of their way to try to marry her," and Al cracks up.

 

"Well," he says, giggling, "I mean, she's smart and cool, but I imagine it helps that she's Ling's heir."

 

"What??" Ed says, jerking his head to look at him. "That's new, right? When'd that happen?"

 

Al snorts. "Like two years ago maybe? It was a whole thing, don't you listen to the news?"

 

Ed doesn't, actually. He's kind of had enough of politics any bigger than the Rush Valley city council, and even that's grating. Also, news from Xing makes him feel some kind of way. "I must have missed it," he says guiltily.

 

"Loser," Al says affectionately. "Well, anyway, Ling did away with the whole concubine baby system because it's, quote, 'inefficient and traumatizing for everyone involved.' Supposedly he's working on getting it to be more of a straight meritocracy or something."

 

"Huh," Ed says. "That's pretty cool of him."

 

"Yeah, we thought so," Al says.

 

"I guess I would have thought he'd be more into the whole… harem thing. What with the, what, 'power, money, women,' wasn't it?" Ed says. He's sort of joking and sort of not.

 

"Yeah...  I dunno if he's still into all that," Al says, looking shifty for some reason.

 

"I guess maybe once you're rich as shit you get to start wanting weirder shit," Ed says speculatively. "Like, like you start collecting fucked up vases or something."

 

"I don't know that that's it," Al says. "But sure."

 

They pull into the southern station in Central shortly after, where they're greeted enthusiastically (read: violently) by Armstrong, whom Al had called before they left. It's strange seeing him in his civvies, even though Ed knows through the grapevine that he left the military years ago.

 

"AH!" Armstrong yells, embracing them one at a time and then together. "Elric brothers! It's been so long since I have seen you both. How are you, my young friends?"

 

Ed pats his back halfheartedly. "We're good, dude."

 

"Thanks for meeting us here," Al says. "It's good to see a friendly face. How's everything with you?"

 

"Oh, well," Armstrong says, "quite excellent, in fact. I've been volunteering at the hospitals, helping with rehabilitation efforts. It turns out I'm much happier helping people than I ever was hurting them."

 

"That's awesome, man," Ed tells him sincerely.

 

"I'm not surprised," Al says. "I'm glad that's where you ended up."

 

"I am as well," Armstrong says. "In fact I'm back in school—school!—to become a physical therapist."

 

Ed has a brief vision of Armstrong wearing little khaki shorts sitting at one of those tiny desks with the chair attached and he almost chokes. "That's really—really great," he says. Al nudges him subtly, because he knows  _ exactly  _ what Ed's problem is.

 

"I think so!" Armstrong says cheerfully. "Now then, let me escort you to the car."

 

Their first stop is Gracia Hughes's place. Elicia answers the door, and Ed watches as she gets excited, realizes Winry isn't with them, and visibly deflates. She still lets them in, but she's clearly pretty bummed that Winry didn't come too. Ed files her reaction away to tell Win about later as Gracia emerges from the direction of the living room.

 

"Oh, Alphonse, Edward! My dears," she greets them warmly. "Alex, good afternoon. How are you all? Come sit, we were just about to start an art project. There's plenty of supplies if you'd like to join us."

 

Well, they can't just say no to that. The three of them join Elicia and Gracia at the kitchen table, which is covered with newspapers and art supplies. They spend the next couple hours catching up and doing goofy portraits of each other. Elicia's actually a pretty good artist, for being ten years old, and Gracia's not half-bad either. Armstrong, of course, has his dumb Armstrong Family Talent or whatever. And then there's Ed and Al, who can draw perfect circles and straight lines at the drop of the hat but have neither of them ever actually tried representative drawing outside of the occasional sketch of a wanted figure. (Ed maintains that his drawing of Xiao-mei was more accurate than Al's.)

 

Ed ends up sitting crosslegged in a chair with his canvas on his knees and propped against the table, getting paint on his trousers, while he paints a cartoonish Al in primary colors. Next to him Elicia is drawing Armstrong in various shades of glitter glue, which obviously is ingenious. Ed can't see whatever Armstrong's doing, but he keeps looking up at Ed and squinting critically. Ed's getting a little nervous. Al is drawing Gracia, using like three markers at once, and Gracia is doing a nice portrait of Elicia in charcoal because she's an actual real life adult. Elicia has taken over the conversation, monologuing in the way children do about—her favorite book series, Ed thinks? There are dragons involved, so Ed approves on principle.

 

After a while they all kind of run out of steam. Ed takes the initiative and displays his horrible painting of Al. "Ta-da!" he says, rotating it so everyone can see. "It's Al."

 

"Wow, you really captured my essence there," Al says. "I really see myself in it. I love it."

 

"I think it's upside-down," Elicia says.

 

"Oh," Ed says, and he rotates it.

 

"OH," Al says. "Ohhh, okay, that makes more sense. That's my nose. I see."

 

"We're not too old for me to kick your butt," Ed warns him.

 

"Now, Edward. No threats of violence at the dinner table," Gracia says serenely. She shows her drawing to them. It's good; it's definitely recognizably Elicia, and the artist's adoration for her subject seeps through. She tinted it with pink crayons. It kind of makes Ed's heart hurt to look at.

 

"Mama, yours is so good!!" Elicia crows. "It looks just like me! Can we put it in my room?"

 

"Of course, sweetheart," Gracia tells her, smiling wide. "I'm glad you like it."

 

"I love it!! Look at my drawing of Mr Alex. It's still wet so you can't touch it," Elicia warns. Her drawing is great. Armstrong's muscles bulge cartoonishly underneath his sparkly pink mustache. Little stars, hearts, and peace signs are scattered across the background. Armstrong leans over to get a better look at it and actually starts tearing up.

 

"This is the best thing I've ever seen," he says.

 

"Do you wanna keep it?" Elicia asks.

 

"You are too generous," Armstrong tells her, wiping tears away. "I would be honored to keep it. Would you sign it for me?"

 

"Yeah, it'll be worth bank when you're a big famous artist," Ed agrees.

 

"Edward Elric! I would never sell it," Armstrong scolds him.

 

"Yeah Ed," Al teases him. "Come on."

 

"Uh huh," Ed says, rolling his eyes. "Wanna show us your masterpiece, Armstrong?"

 

"Now I'm not certain I want to," Armstrong bluffs, but he displays his painting anyway. Ed is ready for it to be, you know, some sort of horrifying skilled portrait where you can see the individual pores on his face or something, but—it's not. It's not even a portrait, just a vertical smear of colors, and the first thing Ed thinks when he sees it is,  _ Why'd he go and paint Ling? _

 

"Whoa," Al says. "That's cool. That's Ed?"

 

"It's Edward's heart," Armstrong confirms. "Rendered using a special abstract painting technique passed down through the Armstrong family line for generations. See here, the red is his old jacket and his fiery passion! And the gold is his remarkable hair, and the black and white are the tragedies and blessings he has lived through. Also his shirt and trousers."

 

Which, like, makes sense, but—to Ed it's still just Ling-colored. Yellow and white shirt. Black hair. Red eyes, some of the time. Blood, others. Maybe he just hadn't realized that he and Ling had so much of the same color scheme.

 

"It's really cool," he says anyway. "You're a man of many talents, Mr Armstrong."

 

Armstrong puffs up and poses a little, and the rest of them laugh. Al shows off his portrait of Gracia, a multi-colored line drawing which, while not very technically skilled, is still fun. He gives it to her and she hangs it up on her fridge, and then she says, "Gentlemen, this has been lovely. Tomorrow is a school day, you know, so Elicia has to go do her homework now, but thank you for stopping in! If you come back tomorrow the paintings will be dry and you can take them home."

 

"That would be great," Al says sincerely. "Thanks for having us, Gracia. It was great to see you two."

 

"If you ever need anything, any, you know, manual labor, or anything," Ed starts, but Gracia waves him off with a laugh.

 

"Ed, sweetie, the only thing I want from you boys is to see your smiling faces once in a while. You don't owe us anything."

 

"Yeah," Ed says doubtfully. Gracia pulls him into a hug, and after a second of being startled, he accepts it and hugs her back.

 

"I'll tell Winry you got here safe," she says after a moment, pulling away so she can look him in the eye. "I heard about the breakup," she adds quietly. "If you need anyone to mom you, you know where to call."

 

Ed shrugs, feeling flustered. "I dunno how wise it is to make that offer," he jokes weakly. "I feel like all three of us have needed someone to mom us for the last, like, fifteen years."

 

"Oh, honey," she says, unbearably kind. "That's why I'm offering."

  
  


*

 

Ed manages to make it through that interaction without just absolutely losing his shit (thank GOD, Elicia's seen enough crying adults for a lifetime), and Armstrong takes him and Al to the new president's house. Wrath's old estate still exists, but Mrs Bradley still lives there with little Selim. It had seemed too cruel to tear down just about the only thing she still had, even if there was good reason. So Grumman had had himself a house built just outside the urban center of Central, and Mustang moved in when Grumman retired to the countryside. Hawkeye lives there too, although it's never been clear to Ed whether that's related to her status as his second in command or her status as his partner.

 

Ed thinks it would be funny to sneak in, but Armstrong insists that they knock on the front door like normies, staying in the car to make sure they're let in before he drives away. A guard answers and leads them to a little patio garden out back, where Mustang and Hawkeye sit drinking tea with Jean Havoc. Havoc sees them first, and sits up a little straighter in his wheelchair. Black Hayate springs up from his place at Hawkeye's feet and trots over to snorfle their hands.

 

"Ah! It's the heroes of Amestris!" Havoc jokes. "Hey, Elric boys!"

 

"Hey, Havoc," Ed says, "General Hawkeye." He puts on a suckup-y tone: "Mr President sir."

 

Mustang scowls at him, but Hawkeye smiles. "Afternoon," she greets the three of them. "Would you like to sit?" 

 

They would. There's not really enough room at the little glass table for four people, so they sit on the low garden wall. "I didn't know y'all were coming up," Havoc remarks. "What're you kids doing in our neck of the woods?"

 

"We just thought we were due a visit," Al answers easily. "It's pretty rare that Ed and I are both free and in the same country, so we thought we'd do a little road trip."

 

"Aww, that's great," Havoc says.

 

"Did you arrive today?" Hawkeye asks.

 

Ed nods and Al says, "Yeah, we got in earlier. We just came from Mrs Hughes's place."

 

"Hence the paint on Ed's trousers, I see," Hawkeye says. "President Mustang and I were just there visiting last week. She did an excellent portrait of him as a blue alien."

 

"I wish I was drinking tea when you said that just now," Ed deadpans, "I would have really enjoyed spitting it out."

 

"Here," Havoc says, handing him his teacup. "I'm not really into green tea."

 

"You're a champion among men," Ed tells him magnanimously. "Okay, let's try that one again," he says, lifting the teacup to his mouth and raising his eyebrows.

 

"Elicia drew an excellent portrait of President Mustang as a blue alien," Hawkeye repeats, because she's a fucking gem. Ed spit-takes beautifully. Black Hayate yips at him in surprise. Al buries his face in his hands.

 

"Brother, sometimes I really cannot believe we're related," he moans.

 

"You're all fired," Mustang grumbles.

 

"I think technically only General Hawkeye still works for you," Ed points out smugly. "The rest of us all escaped."

 

Mustang sighs longsufferingly. "Once upon a time, people respected me," he says.

 

"Did we?" Ed asks, like a shithead.

 

_ "Anyway,"  _ Al says, "How are things up here? We—well,  _ I  _ follow the news, and Mr Armstrong and Mrs Hughes caught us up a little on city happenings. Is there anything we wouldn't have heard about?"

 

"Well," Havoc volunteers, "I have some fun news." He braces himself on the arms of his wheelchair and pushes himself up into a standing position, and lets go. He stands there for a good ten seconds while the rest of them applaud, and then he carefully lowers himself back down, grinning self-consciously.

 

"Havoc!" Mustang says, enthusiastic for once. "That's great! Good work."

 

"Thanks, boss," Havoc says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I realize standing unassisted is, like, something two-year-old babies do regularly, but it really feels big."

 

"Hey," Ed says, "it's a process. Bodies are fucked up and complicated."

 

"All progress is worth celebrating," Al agrees.

 

"Also, babies are fucking wild," Ed points out. "No one comes out unscathed from comparison with babies."

 

Havoc laughs. "Yeah, I guess you guys would kinda get it," he says. "Thanks." 

 

Ed offers him a fist to bump. "Anytime," he says as Havoc bumps it back. "Seriously, that's really exciting. You're doing great."

 

"Thanks," Havoc says again, less bashful now.

 

"How come he's nice to you and mean to me?" Mustang asks the group at large, fake-despairing. "After all I did for you, Fullmetal."

 

"Someone's gotta keep your ass in line, and General Hawkeye shouldn't hafta do it all the time," Ed says immediately. "A little humility's good for ya." 

 

Al leans forward to stage-whisper, "Our other father figure died before Ed could really give him all the shit he deserved. You're just getting the spill-off."

 

This time it's Mustang and Hawkeye who spit their tea out. "Your  _ other  _ father figure?" Mustang wheezes.

 

"Al, oh, my God, I had no idea you two thought of him that way," Hawkeye manages through her laughter. "That's—that's great."

 

"ANYWAY," Ed says loudly to Havoc, his cheeks burning, "WILD HOW I'M AN ONLY CHILD NOW, GOT ANY LADY FRIENDS YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT?"

 

Havoc laughs in his face, so Ed squats down to shake hands with Black Hayate (a classic). "You're my only friend," he tells him mournfully. 

 

Black Hayate licks his face. Ed sighs.

 

 *****

 

Ed and Al crash in a guest suite at the house for the night, because it's free and super, duper nice. Seriously, Grumman knew what the hell was up when he was having this place built. The beds are all really tall and  _ really  _ soft, and the bathroom is almost overwhelming in its cleanliness. Like, Ed's not a slob, but the surfaces in there are  _ spotless.  _ It almost feels wrong to immediately take a two-hour bubble bath.

 

Not quite wrong enough to prevent him from doing just that, though.

 

The bathtub is big enough that if he kind of slides down, he can get himself almost completely submerged, with just his mismatched knees and the top half of his head exposed. He sits and soaks and sulks and thinks.  _ Other father figure, my ass.  _ One was  _ plenty. _

 

It's hard to stay cranky for long, though, because truly there is no greater pleasure than a hot bath. He really started appreciating stuff like that only after he spent months camping out in the woods, waiting to die. Nothing makes you appreciate heated indoor plumbing like splashing your armpits with cold river water once every four days. Or sharing a tent with two big furry dudes and  _ another sixteen year old boy.  _ Absolutely nightmarish. 

 

Ed shudders at the memory and dunks his head all the way under.

 

When he feels thoroughly waterlogged, he gets out carefully—automail and slick bathtub floors don't mix well—and wraps himself in two of the huge fluffy towels provided. Inhabiting a body? Pretty wack. Having the physical ability to feel cozy? Now that's good.

 

He sleeps for a solid nine hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i think havoc's just in town visiting but he can live in central now if your heart desires  
> \- funny how i'd die for black hayate?  
> \- gracia and winry talk on the phone once a week  
> \- i read a fic where ling named mei his heir and it STUCK in my BRAIN thats so fucking good and cute ?!!?!? 
> 
> my update schedule for this is probably gonna be based entirely on a) whim and b) how busy i am! sorry lmao


	3. Chapter 3

The next day is a Monday, so Mustang and Hawkeye are in their offices doing Governmental Stuff, thinking about taxes or whatever, who knows, so Ed and Al spend the morning playing with Black Hayate in the backyard. He's not as energetic as he was when he was a puppy, but then neither are Ed and Al, so they all run each other ragged within the first two hours. The three of them are flopped on the grass catching their breath when a guard ducks outside and calls, "Excuse me, Elric brothers, your presence is required in the President's office."

 

Ed and Al look exchange a look and sit up, groaning. "Hope he doesn't care that we're covered in grass," Al remarks. Ed shrugs. Mustang can deal with a little mud. They follow the guard to Mustang's office and slip inside.

 

Mustang is sitting at his desk, and he makes a little gesture when they come in. "—Here they are now," he says into the phone. "Thank you, the pleasure was all mine. I'll hand you over now. Until next time." He offers the phone to them and says, looking a little amused, "Phone call for you. Don't take too long, I have work to do."

 

Ed looks at Al. Al looks at Ed. They're on the same page: Mustang talks to Winry? Mustang has Winry's number? … Winry has  _ Mustang's  _ number?

 

Al takes the phone and Ed crowds close so they can both hear. "Hello?" Al says. "This is Al. Ed's here too."

 

_ "Elric brothers!"  _ exclaims the voice at the other end. Ed jumps. The voice—low, a little accented, distinctly  _ not  _ Winry—continues,  _ "My friends, how are you? It's been so long." _

 

"Ling???" Al exclaims, grinning at Ed in realization. Ed is almost too surprised to grin back.

 

_ "The one and only,"  _ Ling confirms.

 

"Hey, Ling," Ed says, "We were just talking about you."

 

"It turns out Ed doesn't consume any sort of news media and he had no idea what you've been up to for the last five years," Al adds.

 

"Yeah, and you never fuckin' write anymore," Ed says, feeling defensive.

 

_ "Eh Ed! That's because you stopped replying! I wrote you like once a month for two years and you never sent anything back,"  _ Ling says. What?  _ "I figured you were busy." _

 

"I only got, like, four letters from you and I replied to every one," Ed says, quirking an eyebrow at Al like  _ Can you believe this guy?  _

 

Al makes a confused face, and then he seems to have a realization. His eyes widen. "You forgot to give him your new address, didn't you," he says to Ed.

 

"Oh, good grief," Mustang mutters.

 

_ "Your new address??"  _ Ling repeats.  _ "Edward Elric, have I been sending letters to the wrong house for five years?" _

 

Dawning horror and embarrassment fights with stupid relief that, no, Ling hadn't just blown him off. "Oh, holy shit," he mutters. Ling laughs, bright and crackly in his ear. "Pinako must be so confused."

 

_ "You asshole!"  _ Ling accuses cheerfully.  _ "Well, that's that mystery solved. Where should I send letters from now on?" _

 

"Oh, uhh," Ed says, feeling awkward, "I've been in Rush Valley, but I'm actually probably moving again? I don't know where yet."

 

"Oh, what?" Mustang asks, looking up from his crossword. "You didn't mention that, Fullmetal. Rockbell finally outgrow that little shop?"

 

Ed looks at Al, who grimaces in sympathy. "Uhh, no, we broke up." Mustang makes a face, like,  _ Sorry, kid. _

 

_ "What?"  _ Ling asks.  _ "Who did?" _

 

"Me'n'Winry," Ed tells him. "I don't really have a plan for what I'm doing next."

 

_ "Oh,"  _ Ling says.  _ "I'm sorry." _ He pauses, and then he says,  _ "You should come visit me!" _

 

"Yeah!!!" Al exclaims, turning to Ed. "Come back to Xing with me! You can see all the research Mei and I have been doing firsthand!"

 

Ed grins, excitement building behind his shoulders. "Yeah!" he agrees. "Hey, yeah, that would be really cool, actually. And now I can even cross the desert with my automail leg without wanting to die."

 

"Yeah!" Al says.

 

_ "Lan Fan was fine,"  _ Ling points out.  _ "You're just a weenie." _

 

"Sure, but everyone's a weenie compared to Lan Fan. Armstrong is a weenie compared to her," Ed says.

 

"Armstrong's a weenie compared to anyone," Mustang mutters.

 

"Okay,  _ Mustang's  _ a weenie compared to her," Ed revises. Al elbows him and Ling laughs again.

 

"That's  _ President  _ Mustang, brat," Mustang says.

 

"You're not denying it," Ed points out. Mustang rolls his eyes.

 

_ "I love diplomatic calls now," _ Ling announces.  _ "This is great." _

 

"Hear that,  _ President _ Mustang? I'm improving international relations," Ed says smugly. "I oughta be charging you."

 

"Yeah, I bet you are," Mustang mutters, and then a little louder, "On the contrary, I'm charging  _ you _ for every minute you're on that line. Unlike you two hoodlums, Emperor Yao and I actually have  _ jobs." _

 

"Are you charging me too?" Al asks in dismay.

 

"Yes, but only half as much per minute," Mustang grants.

 

_ "Emperor Yao's _ paying mine," Ed decides. "Because he owes me like three hundred bucks from seven years ago, and also he  _ loves  _ me."

 

_ "What am I paying for??"  _ Ling asks.  _ "Why are you calling me Emperor Yao?" _

 

"Don't worry about it," Ed says.

 

"Okay, quit flirting with foreign powers and give me my phone back, fool," Mustang demands. Ed sticks his tongue out at him. "The fate of our trade agreements with Drachma may depend on it."

 

"Okay, Ling, we have to go, but let's talk more, okay?" Al says. "We should plan our visit!"

 

_ "You guys could come literally whenever, I'm my own boss,"  _ Ling says.  _ "But sure, I'll call you." _

 

"Sounds good," Al chirps. "Bye, Ling!"

 

_ "Bye, Al!" _

 

"Bye, Ling," Ed says, and then he adds, "It was good talking to you. I missed you, jerk."

 

_ "Missed you too, Ed,"  _ Ling replies.  _ "You shrimpy little bastard." _

 

Ed slams the phone back into its cradle.

 

"I hope you're not inciting diplomatic incidents in my office, Fullmetal," Mustang says mildly. 

 

"Only a little bit," Ed says cheerfully. "He'll get over it."

 

"Uh huh," Mustang says with a snort. "Because he  _ loves  _ you."

 

"Boy, a guy has  _ one _ realization and suddenly every dude he's ever been friends with is his boyfriend," Ed grouses. Al chokes on a laugh.

 

"Sorry, 'a realization'?" Mustang asks, and Ed remembers,  _ Oh right. _

 

"Nothin'," he says guiltily. It's not that he doesn't want Mustang to know, it's just—a weird time to have that conversation.

 

But then Mustang continues, "It's just, I thought you knew," so maybe Ed's just a dumbass.

 

"BYE, Mustang," Ed says, and leaves. He hears Al excuse himself more politely. He catches up with Ed in the hallway and nudges their shoulders together in support.

 

"Did  _ everyone  _ know except for me?" Ed asks him in exasperation.

 

"Well... " Al says.

 

"Oh my God," Ed says, and speeds up. "I'm gonna go play with Black Hayate. He's the only one who doesn't judge me."

 

"If it helps, I bet Ling doesn't know," Al says. "Also, I don't judge you!"

 

"Hmmmmm," Ed says. "I don't know that that does help. That guy's pretty oblivious."

 

"Uh huh," Al says, in that tone of voice he does when he's humoring Ed.

 

"What," Ed says.

 

"Nothin'," Al says. He opens the door to the backyard and Black Hayate springs up to come sniff their hands. "It's just, I don't know that… I mean, I dunno if Mustang meant… It's just, it's kind of you and Ling specifically."

 

Ed scowls at him. "What do you mean, me and Ling specifically?"

 

Al shrugs and crouches down to squish Black Hayate's face around. "I'm not gonna make any firm statements, I guess, but… I dunno, I got Vibes from you guys. Like I know nothing was actually going on, but. I dunno. Vibes."

 

"Vibes," Ed repeats.

 

"Yeah," Al says helplessly. Black Hayate starts licking his hand with enthusiasm. "Hey buddy," he tells him.

 

"Hm," Ed says. "So, what, you think I was like,  _ into _ him?"

 

"Weren't you?"

 

"If I take a minute to think about this and I realize I've been in love with him this whole time I'm gonna blow my fucking lid," Ed warns him, but then he does take a minute to think about it, because he's interested in growing as a person. He sits heavily on the ground and Black Hayate throws himself into his lap, which is very validating.  _ Was  _ he into Ling back when they were sixteen? "I dunno," he says after a while. He squishes Black Hayate's face around. "I don't remember, like, wanting to make out with him or whatever. I just felt—very strongly about him. Mostly the 'shut the fuck up' kind of feeling." 

 

Al makes a face like,  _ Well…  _

 

"Okay, yeah, but like, I feel really strongly about  _ you,  _ too. And Winry," Ed points out.

 

Al shrugs. "Yeah, and I'm your brother, and you thought you were gonna  _ marry  _ Win. I dunno, I'm not trying to argue with you or whatever, I'm just sayin'."

 

"Hmm," Ed says. "Well, whatever. He's my friend, I don't wanna overthink it and then get weird around him. And anyway, it's been like a million years."

 

"Yeah, okay," Al says. "Hey, shout-out to not being fifteen anymore, yeah?"

 

_ "God,  _ yeah," Ed agrees, and they exchange a fist-bump. 

  
  


*

 

Ling only calls a couple hours after dinner, when Ed and Al are just hanging out in the little common space in the guest suite. He must have called Mustang's office and been routed through to the room phone, because that's what rings. Ed heaves himself up from the couch and goes to answer it, reminding himself privately not to be weird. It's just Ling.

 

"Hey," he says into the phone.

 

_ "Ed?"  _ Ling checks.

 

"The one and only," Ed parrots back at him.

 

"Also Al," Al calls, putting down his sketchbook and coming over. He'd been trying to teach Ed a little about Xingese geography. Ed takes the whole body of the phone and puts it on the floor so he and Al can sit with their backs to the wall. "Hi again Ling!"

 

_ "Evening, Al! Sorry to call so late, I only just now got out of meetings with my advisors. Can you believe, I haven't even eaten yet! I think they're trying to kill me,"  _ Ling says, and then he adds,  _ "Ha-ha, political assassination joke." _

 

"Ha-ha," Ed says weakly. 

 

"I don't like that joke," Al says flatly.

 

_ "Sorry,"  _ Ling sighs.  _ "I've been cooped up lately and my options are to joke about it or throw a tantrum. Anyway. So you two are coming to Xing immediately, as soon as physically possible, yes?" _

 

Ed laughs at him. "Impatient."

 

_ "Greedy,"  _ Ling corrects him. It feels like a shove to the chest.

 

"Guh," Ed says.

 

_ "Sorry, was that also dark? It's true,"  _ Ling says.  _ "I only have, like, five friends. I want all of you near me at all times." _

 

"That's fair," Al says, before Ed can say something like  _ That sounds miserable  _ or  _ I know the feeling.  _ "I think we could be there in like a week, if nothing weird happens."

 

"If you say it like that you'll jinx it," Ed warns him. "Ling, we'll be there in a week."

 

_ "Rain or shine?" _

 

"Rain or shine."

 

_ "I'll send Lan Fan to meet you at East Desert Station,"  _ Ling says.  _ "She can get you to the capital via routes faster than the train." _

 

"That would be great," Al says. To Ed he explains, "Once you leave the desert and start heading south towards the capital, it gets a little cooler but a lot more humid. Being stuck on the train kinda sucks."

 

"I see," Ed says. "Okay, yeah, let's take the Lan Fan Express, for sure."

 

Al cups his hand over the receiver part of the phone and whispers to Ed, "He never sends  _ me  _ the Lan Fan Express." He raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

 

"Yeah, but you're never there to see  _ him," _ Ed whispers back. "Why would he send Lan Fan to get you when you were just gonna hang out with Mei the whole time?" Al shrugs and removes his hand from the receiver.

 

"So hey," Al says, "anything you want us to bring you from Amestris? … Within reason," he adds.

 

_ "Hmmmm,"  _ Ling says.  _ "... Seeds." _

 

"Seeds?" Ed repeats.

 

_ "Yeah, like, for trees. I'm trying to grow an orchard." _

 

"Huh. All right," Ed says.

 

_ "Oh! Also comic books,"  _ Ling says. Ed snorts.

 

"Uh, sure. Any requests?" Al asks. "For the seeds or the comic books."

 

_ "Surprise me!" _

 

"Keep in mind neither of us know jack shit about comics," Ed cautions. "Or trees."

 

_ "That's fine,"  _ Ling says cheerfully.  _ "I don't know shit about comics either." _

 

"You're a pretty weird guy, you know that, right?" Ed says. 

 

_ "That's why you like me,"  _ Ling says. Ed widens his eyes at Al in panic.

 

Al maintains eye contact with Ed and makes an exaggerated yawning sound without actually yawning. "Oh, gee," he says loudly, "I'm just wiped out after a long day of playing with Black Hayate, I'm gonna go to bed early. G'night Ling!" He pushes himself off the floor and mouths to Ed,  _ Talk to him!! _

 

Ed mouths back,  _ Traitor!!  _ as Ling says,  _ "Oh, okay, goodnight Al!" _

 

Ed waits until Al has disappeared into his room and closed his door, and then he says, "Uh, so… Catch me up on what your life's been like. You know, since I'm a moron and haven't been reading your mail for the last five years."

 

Ling laughs at him.  _ "Yeah, and you don't listen to the news, apparently. My life's been an exciting whirlwind of imposing governmental reforms upon a reluctant but ultimately approving nation. I joke about the threat of assassination, but I like to think I'm actually relatively popular. Turns out my esteemed father wasn't doing much for the average citizen." _

 

"That's good," Ed says. "That you're popular, I mean. I like it when my friends aren't assassinated at age 22."

 

_ "Me too,"  _ Ling says.  _ "I suppose I can't plan on living forever anymore, but a guy can dream." _

 

Ed snorts. "I hear living forever sucks ass, actually."

 

_ "Mm,"  _ Ling says.  _ "Yeah, you're right. You know what I mean, though." _

 

"Yeah," Ed says. "I do."

 

They sit with that for a moment. Then Ling asks,  _ "What has your life been like, Edward Elric?" _

 

"Heugh," Ed says. Ling laughs. "Well, Winry and I moved to Rush Valley two years after—all the bullshit, you know. Her automail mentor dude got married and retired so she got his old shop and we lived upstairs. She's been doing really well there, she's a really great mechanic, you know?"

 

_ "That's great, but that's what Winry's been up to, fool,"  _ Ling says.  _ "I asked about you." _

 

Ed doesn't really know what to say to that. "Uhhh," he says, stalling. "I dunno. I help out in the shop a little. And I've been doing, like, alchemical theory work, I guess. But it's frustrating because I can't test any of it out. It feels like I'm just dicking around half the time."

 

_ "You got what you spent your whole life working for and now you don't know what to do,"  _ Ling guesses.

 

"Yeah," Ed wretchedly, feeling exposed. "God, don't put too fine a point on it, Ling."

 

Ling snorts.  _ "You know you and Al are the only people who call me Ling? Even Mei calls me Emperor Yao, although I think she's being a little ironic about it." _

 

"Wow," Ed says. "That's… gotta feel weird."

 

_ "It's what I worked for,"  _ Ling says.

 

"Still," Ed says.

 

_ "It feels weird as hell,"  _ Ling admits.  _ "I'm glad I got here. But some days I wish I could just have friends." _

 

"You do have friends," Ed tells him quietly.

 

_ "Yeah,"  _ Ling says, just as quietly.  _ "I guess I do."  _ Then, brightening:  _ "And now you're coming to see me!! Finally!!" _

 

Ed laughs at him. "Yeah, after I neglected you horribly for five years. God, I'm such a dumbass. I wonder if Pinako saved all your letters. … Actually, for that matter, I wonder why she didn't just forward them to me."

 

_ "I may not have addressed them extremely obviously,"  _ Ling admits.  _ "You'll recall my first several letters were in code." _

 

"Ah, yes," Ed says. The contents of the letters weren't all that sensitive, and the codes were easy to break—they were Caesar ciphers, or long letters apparently about nothing where every fifth word made up the actual letter, or the whole thing would just be written backwards, as if that constituted a code. Ed never really got why Ling bothered with all that, but it was fun to decipher them, so he had reciprocated with his own letters. "I recall."

 

_ "I did not stop doing that,"  _ Ling says.

 

"God," Ed laughs. "You weirdo."

 

_ "I figured you'd need something new to obsess over,"  _ Ling says lightly.  _ "I know you." _

 

That shuts Ed up. He thinks about that—the idea he needs to obsess over stuff. He wants to be indignant about it, but it's kind of just true. He thunks his head against the wall.

 

_ "Ed?"  _ Ling asks, voice a little worried.

 

"Sorry, yeah, I'm here," Ed says. He lets himself slide down the wall until he's laying on his side. "You're smart and I am, once again, a total moron. God, I feel like everyone knows me except me."

 

_ "Oh, yeah?"  _ Ling asks in amusement.  _ "What other completely obvious revelations have been thrust upon you lately?" _

 

Ed examines the carpet under his cheek. It's deep blue, thick soft plush. He shuts his eyes. "You know how I said Win broke up with me?"

 

_ "Yes." _

 

"It was partially because she thinks I'm probably gay," Ed says. "I mean, there were other reasons, but that was one of them."

 

Ling is silent for a moment. Then he just says,  _ "Huh." _

 

"Yeah," Ed says. "I told Al and he was like,  _ Ooh I kinda wondered  _ and then I sort of accidentally told Mustang and he was like  _ Ooh I thought you knew."  _ He opens his eyes in frustration. "Ling! I'm smart! I'm the youngest State Alchemist ever!! I've done all sorts of cool smart world-saving shit! AND YET…"

 

Ling snickers in his ear.  _ "It seems like you haven't done a lot of thinking about what you really want for yourself now,"  _ he says.  _ "Maybe it's time you do that." _

 

"Yeah," Ed sighs. "But if I'm not, like, solving some sort of crisis, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

 

_ "You're allowed to want things, Edward Elric,"  _ Ling says, and it rings in Ed's ears like a church bell. He barely even registers it as Ling continues,  _ "For example, right now I want to eat dinner because it's 2am here and I'm dying." _

 

"—Oh," Ed says, "Wow, it's really 2am? Okay. Right, yeah, go eat."

 

_ "I will!"  _ Ling chirps.  _ "Goodnight, Ed." _

 

"Night, Ling," Ed says. "And… thanks. I needed to hear… a lot of that."

 

_ "Any time, Ed,"  _ Ling says seriously. And then he hangs up.

 

Ed continues lying there on the floor for another ten minutes, going over their conversation in his head. Then he goes and knocks on Al's door and then just lets himself in. Al is in bed, reading in his pajamas. Ed throws himself face-down onto the bed next to him and groans loudly.

 

"So how'd it go?" Al asks him.

 

"Terrible news," Ed says into the mattress. He feels Al sit up straighter.

 

"What, what happened?"

 

"I still don't know if I had a crush on him at sixteen, but I think I got a crush on him now," Ed whines. Al laughs in delight and pats his shoulder sympathetically. "Al, it was horrible. He asked me about, you know, my life and I was like  _ Uhhh  _ and he was like  _ Sounds like you do absolutely no introspection, idiot. Also you need to obsess over things to live.  _ Absolutely unbelievable."

 

"Wow," Al says. "Did he really say that? That's a little harsh."

 

"No," Ed admits. "He said it sounded like I hadn't figured out how to want things for myself and that it was okay to do that. Well, he did basically say the thing about obsessing over stuff. And here I am!!"

 

"Wow," Al says again.

 

"I know," Ed says. "Devastating."

 

Al play-punches his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad he said it. He's right, you big dummy."

 

Ed sighs. "Probably," he says, and he leaves it at that. 

 

What Al and Ling don't know is that he  _ does  _ want stuff for himself. At his worst he feels like he's a black hole. He wants friends around. He wants a quiet house. He wants to be able to climb up to his roof and see for miles around him, like he could back in Resembool, instead of just feeling crushed by the looming canyon walls. He wants to be doing new, interesting stuff that no one's ever done before. He wants to be able to put his hands down and pull disparate parts into an entirely different whole. He wants to do alchemy again.

 

But he feels like he shouldn't get to want those things. He feels like he oughta be happy with what he has. He performed  _ human transmutation  _ like, fucking three times, and he's only missing a leg. He  _ does  _ have friends, and he still has most of his family, and the whole country  _ probably  _ isn't going to get sacrificed again any time soon. He doesn't need to do alchemy. He has more than enough. If not for Winry, he would have been totally fine living in that house and helping out at the shop for the next, whatever, fifty years of his life.

 

"I should go to bed," he mumbles, suddenly depressed.

 

"Yeah," Al agrees. "We gotta wake up early tomorrow so we can get to Rush Valley and start packing your stuff."

 

Ed perks up a little. "Right right right," he says. He rolls over onto his back so he can sit up. "Okay. Yeah."

 

Al smiles at him at he scoots off the bed. "G'night, Ed."

 

"Night, Al."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy i sure did post chapter 2 after only 2 days and then i waited a whole week (!) to post this one huh ! i must be getting more patient, or something
> 
> hey also im on t*mblr dot hell at @megafaunatic and on twitter at @startmagjojos where im sort of in semi hiatus but ALWAYS READY to say hi!!
> 
> ps i love black hayate. black hayate is not a huge part of this fic but its CANON that he lives forever


	4. cryptic

They leave Central at seven, after grabbing early breakfast with Havoc at a cafe. Ed remembers when it seemed like he was on the train every two weeks chasing information about the Philosopher's Stone, but he's been pretty sedentary for the last couple years. Now that he's not fifteen and desperate, he finds the reality of being on a train twice in three days a little exhausting. He's almost glad when they get back to Rush Valley, if only because that means he gets to walk for half an hour. Al accompanies him back to Winry's shop, where he's immediately accosted by Winry brandishing a new leg at him.

 

"Whoa," he says.

 

"This baby was in the oven at two hundred degrees for four hours and I could touch it with my bare hands," she says without preamble.

 

"I don't know that it reaches two hundred degrees anywhere," Ed says as he takes the leg to inspect it. It's beautiful, a marvel of engineering, full of cords and springs and gears, all perfectly arranged and solid-looking. Ed can barely even wrap his head around how automail works in the first place, and here Winry is, reinventing once again the whole practice. "Win, this is incredible."

 

Winry beams at him. "I know," she says. "It should be almost as lightweight as your old carbon steel model from Briggs. It'll be a little weaker, so don't, you know, go starting a fight club or anything. But if you're not fucking around, it should last at least five years, no problem."

 

"Wow," Ed says. "Winry, you're a fucking genius, you know that, right?"

 

She grins smugly. "I kind of am!"

 

"Whoa, Ed, that leg is so cool," Al says, "Lan Fan's gonna be so jealous."

 

"Lan Fan?" Winry asks. "Is she coming here?"

 

"Nah, we, uh, we're gonna go to Xing for a while," Ed says, suddenly a little self-conscious about it. "Hang out with Ling and Mei and everybody."

 

"Oh, that'll be so cool!" Winry enthuses.

 

"Ling…" Paninya says, squinting in thought. "That's that guy who—oh, the prince!"

 

"Right!" Al says. "He's emperor now, actually, he's the Emperor Yao in the news."

 

"Holy shit," Paninya says. "Winry!! We've met the leader of a whole country!!"

 

"I'm gonna tell Mustang you said that," Ed says, smirking. "'Hey, yeah, Mustang? My friend says you're chopped liver compared to some goofy teenager she met briefly at age fifteen.'"

 

"Eh, he's boring. Being an emperor is way cooler than being President," Paninya says.

 

"Ling'll be thrilled to hear you said that," Al says.

 

"Oh, no, we can never tell him," Ed counters. "That guy's head is big enough already, he doesn't need to know Paninya thinks he's cool."

 

"I'm gonna tell him," Al whispers to Paninya. She snickers.

 

"You're dealing with the aftermath," Ed warns him.

 

"Am I?" Al asks, grinning knowingly at him. Ed rolls his eyes and Al snorts. "Anyway, Win, Ed's gonna go pack stuff up, but I actually have stuff to do in town today. I'll probably be home by… it's 10 now, so home a little after dinner, probably?"

 

Ed looks at him. "You didn't say you had stuff to do," he says.

 

Al shrugs. "It's a surprise," he replies easily. "You'll find out."

 

Ed squints at him. "...Okay," he says. "Have fun, or whatever."

 

"Thanks!" Al says, "Bye guys!" and disappears back into the street.

 

"Weirdo," Ed mutters, exchanging a face with Winry. "Okay, guess I'm headed upstairs. Hawkeye says hi, by the way," he adds.

 

"Hi Riza!" she chirps. "Let me know if you need a hand or anything."

 

"Sure," Ed says, already on the stairs. "Thanks."

 

He doesn't end up needing a hand, at least not really from her. The problem is he doesn't really know what he'll need in Xing. He only has, like, four main outfits, really—he'd found a style that worked for him and by God he had stuck with it—but will he need cold weather clothes at all? Al had said it got a little cooler once you started going south, but that's not saying much, is it? Everywhere is cooler than a desert. Also, how long will he be there? What if he super over-packs and he's stuck with a bunch of shit he doesn't need? What if he ends up staying for a couple months and he _doesn't_ have what he needs? Fuck, how the hell does Al do this?

 

He ends up packing all his underwear and socks, three identical pairs of black trousers, a couple long-sleeved shirts, a couple t-shirts, and a medium-weight jacket. That's pretty versatile, right? God.

 

And now for his office…

 

Winry comes in to check on him around 1, and she brings a bowl of leftover gazpacho he'd made them a couple days ago, because she's an angel. "How's it going?"

 

"Oh, thank God," he mumbles as he takes the bowl from her. "You're my hero. I packed my clothes in like half an hour but now I need to figure out what books and shit I wanna bring."

 

"Nice, nice. You packed underwear?" He nods. "Socks?" He nods. "Jacket?" He nods. "At least one nice outfit, because you're gonna be seeing an emperor, probably in public?"

 

"Oh, hell," he says, and they move back into the bedroom so Winry can pick out the nicest clothes he has.

 

"I guess it would be a little weird to wear Amestrian military gear," she says, looking critically at his old military jacket.

 

"Uh, yeah," Ed agrees. "Plus it's way too small by now."

 

"Right," she says. "You got any nice red shirts? You look good in red."

 

Ed digs through his half of the closet until he comes up with the one red collar shirt he owns. It was a gift—from Al, maybe, or Pinako?—and it's a dark wine-red, and it's the kind of nice that dooms a shirt to the back of a closet because Ed's always too anxious to wear it out. He simply is not a neat enough person to bear the responsibility of wearing such a shirt.

 

Winry whistles when she sees it. "Ohh, yeah, I guess I do remember that one," she says. "Try it on?"

 

Ed raises an eyebrow at her, but he acquiesces, turning away from her to button it up. He doesn't want her to see how long it takes him to get each button. She sighs wistfully as he gets to the last one. "What?" he demands, feeling his ears heat up.

 

"I'm still gay, but you sure do have some nice shoulders," she says. He turns around, not sure what he's supposed to say to that, and she hoots at him. "Oh, man, Ed, that shirt alone is gonna be enough to make up for the fact that you don't own any fucking dress trousers," she tells him. She reaches over to straighten his collar, then steps back to examine him. "Yeah, no, pair that with—hang on, here—" She rifles through the closet again and comes up with a dark grey waistcoat, which he shrugs on obediently. "—Yeah, if you gotta eat with his advisors or whatever, people who give a shit about how formal you're being, they're all gonna be too busy trying to pry his jaw up off the floor to care which fork you're using."

 

Ed feels himself turning red. "I don't think they use forks in Xing," he says, while his four remaining brain cells scramble to catch up with the rest of that sentence. "What?"

 

"Sweetie, you're a hottie," Winry tells him. She grabs his hands and maneuvers him into the bathroom so he can see himself in the mirror. He can see it, he guesses; he's been wearing a red jacket this whole time for a reason. He feels kind of weird about it, so he holds his wrists up to Winry so she can fasten the buttons on his cuffs. "I'm serious," she says as she pushes the buttons through, "I dunno if seducing him is on your agenda here or anything, but if it is you totally could."

 

"Ngk," Ed says, cheeks burning. "So how's Paninya?" he tries.

 

"Paninya's just fine," Winry says, not taking the bait. "Is that a yes on the seduction?"

 

He drops his head onto her shoulder. She's familiar and warm and she smells good and he doesn't want her like that anymore. "I don't think so," he says quietly.

 

"No?" Winry asks, letting his wrists drop so she can sling her arms around his shoulders. "I thought maybe… you know."

 

"Yeah," Ed says. "Yeah."

 

Winry stills around him. "Wow, really?" she asks, not unkindly, after a moment.

 

"Yeah, kinda think so," Ed says. "I mean, who knows, maybe we'll show up in Xing and it'll be totally different. Or he'll have a girlfriend or, or a boyfriend, or whatever. But even if he's… seduction isn't… it's never been what I want, Win. You know that."

 

She presses a kiss into his hair. "I do know that, Ed," she says. "Go get 'em. And hey, if you end up getting to be Prince Consort or whatever, you should bring me in, I'll be the Automail Queen of Xing."

 

"Thanks," Ed says drily, pulling away. "I'll keep that in mind."

 

"Ah, Ed, always lookin' out for me," Winry jokes.

 

"You know it," he replies.

 

They grin at each other, and it feels almost like it used to, but—a little better. After a beat, Winry claps her hands and says, "Okay, let's see what else I can dress you up in, you little Ken Doll," and Ed says, _"Hey,"_ and Winry laughs at him.

 

"Oh, actually, before I get distracted—take your pants off, I'll be right back," she says.

 

"Excuse me?" Ed says.

 

"Your _leg,_ dumbass, we should swap 'em out," she says, already half out the door.

 

"Oh, right, okay," Ed says. When she comes back with the new leg he's sitting on the bed in his boxers and just one sock, beginning the process of unclipping all the auxiliary joiners at his thigh.

 

"Look at you! You're a pro now," Winry says in approval.

 

"Uh huh," Ed says doubtfully. She helps him get the last ones and carefully pulls the old leg off, making Ed wince. He really doesn't feel truly vulnerable very often, but he sure doesn't like not having both legs _and_ not having alchemy.

 

"Okay, connecting on three," Winry warns him, having already lined up the new leg. Ed grabs handfuls of quilt in preparation. "One, two—"

 

She connects the new leg. Ed hisses loudly through his teeth as all the nerves connect at once. "Sorry," Winry says, like she does every time.

 

"It's fine," Ed manages. "Not the worst it's ever been."

 

"Still," she says, and Ed gets that she's not just talking about the automail.

 

"It's fine," he repeats, rotating his new ankle. "There's... less weight now."

 

She half-smiles at him. "Yeah," she agrees.

  


*

  


Thanks to Winry's half-hour of help, Ed manages to pack himself up more or less to his satisfaction by 4pm. He had told her about his under- versus over-packing dilemma and she had looked at him and said "You know you can just _buy_ new clothes, right?" which, well, okay. He's technically retired from the military because fuck all that, but Mustang keeps him loaded with a "thanks for saving the world" pension. After that he had gone back to worrying over which books to bring, and he finally settled for only bringing the shit he _didn't_ already have memorized, which… wasn't a lot, and then a bunch of his recent theories so he can make Al and Mei test them out. He packs his passport, toothbrush, wallet. He very carefully does not think about the condoms he throws in with the rest of his toiletries.

 

After that he doesn't really have anything left to do, so he goes down to the kitchen and sees what's been happening down there. Winry, bless her, doesn't really cook at all; she uses up all her creative energy in the shop every day, so if he or Paninya don't cook she tends to just eat sandwiches or takeout. Sure enough, when Ed checks, there's sandwich fixings, leftovers, and not much else in the fridge, and a single loaf of wheat bread sits among all Ed's normal spices in the pantry. He sighs to himself, then slips out the back door to go grocery shopping.

 

The market is still bustling when Ed gets there. He's kinda feeling matzo ball soup, so he picks up some vegetables, a half-carton of eggs, matzo meal, some schmaltz, and a chicken from one of only a couple chicken farmers who sell pre-plucked chickens. (He also drops by a gardeners' supply stall and picks up little sachets of seeds for Ling: two kinds of apples, a couple peach pits, five different walnuts, and his favorite kind of pear.) Then he goes home and starts making the matzo balls. Once they're mixed and formed, he sticks them in the fridge to cool, and starts in on making the stock.

 

He'd started cooking shortly before they moved to Rush Valley. Granny did most of the cooking in Resembool, but in the last couple months she had started pulling him into the kitchen to learn recipes from her. "Since Winry certainly ain't gonna carry on the family knowledge," she'd half-joked. She was right, of course, and Ed was grateful when they got to Rush Valley and he knew he had one really solid way to help out.

 

Paninya wanders into the kitchen around six, sniffing around him with interest. The stock is bubbling away on the back burner, and Ed has just started chopping the celery. He tosses her an onion and a big knife and says, "Here, chop this up small, okay?" and she says, "Aye-aye sir," and gets going.

 

"How's it going in the shop?" he asks.

 

"Ah, it's all good," she says. "It'll take us a while to really get used to your not being around, but Winry's, you know, a machine."

 

Ed snorts. "Yeah she is. New kid working out fine?"

 

"Oh, yeah, she's a genius. I mean I'm good, you know, but Lise really knows her stuff," Paninya says.

 

"That's good," Ed says, and he finds he means it.

 

"We're gonna miss you though, y'know," Paninya says. "For one thing we're gonna just die if it's just me cooking."

 

Ed laughs. "Ah, you'll be fine. Soup is easy. You can kinda just toss any beans in with any vegetables and some sausage and it'll be good." Well, and spices, and a fat, and you should probably be using stock, and you should probably sautée most vegetables at least a little bit first…

 

"Hmmmm," Paninya says, as if she can see Ed revising his statement in his head. He shrugs. It's, like, _almost_ that simple.

 

"I'm leaving the cookbooks," he offers.

 

"Hmmmmmmm," Paninya says.

 

Al comes home at eight like he said he would, and he flops down at the kitchen table to suck down some soup before Ed dumps all the rest into mason jars. Ed pauses where he's handwashing dishes with Winry and says, "Hey, kid."

 

"Hi brother," Al says, his mouth full of chicken and matzo ball. "How'd packing go?"

 

"It went fine. Probably won't embarrass myself in a foreign country. How'd your mysterious mission 'in town' go?" His hands are full so he can't do full scare quotes, but he makes the same gesture with his shoulders.

 

Al grins. "It took a while, but it went swimmingly," he says. "I found what I wanted. I'll show you on the train tomorrow," he adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

"Hm," Ed says suspiciously.

 

"It's something for you to obsess over," Al says, which is a terrible sign.

 

"That isn't making me trust it any more," Ed tells him.

 

"You'll see," Al says confidently.

 

"Why can't I see it _now?"_

 

"Because then you'd spend all night obsessing over it, dummy."

 

Can't argue with that.

 

"What time is your train tomorrow?" Winry asks them. "Should y'all be getting to bed?"

 

Oh, right. "Ugghhghgh it's at eeeeiiiight," Ed groans. "Fuck _me._ God, am I sick of trains. Win, we're about to be on a train in the desert for like five days straight."

 

"It'll be more like three days straight and then two days of whatever Lan Fan's got cooked up for us," Al points out. Ed groans again.

 

"I bet it's just a smaller, faster train," he says mutinously. Winry laughs at him. Then to change the subject he says, "Oh, hey, Al, d'you happen to pick up any comic books while you were doing whatever you were doing?"

 

"I sure did," Al says, because even when he's being obnoxious and cryptic he is still fundamentally on the same page as Ed at all times. "You get any seeds?"

 

"I sure did," Ed parrots back.

 

"You two are so weird," Winry says.

 

"We know," they say at the same time.

  


*

  


They make it to the station by half-past seven the next morning, which gives them plenty of time to board the train and arrange their luggage and whatever. Al bought the tickets this time, a first for when they've traveled together, which means Ed is shocked to discover that his ticket is marked First Class.

 

"Al, what in the hell is this?" he demands. "First Class?? Are we made of money now?"

 

"Uh, yeah, we are, because we actually have two different major world leaders bankrolling us now, you goof," Al says. "You said it yourself, we're gonna be on this train for three days. When you're in charge of tickets you're allowed to torture yourself for no reason, but when _I'm_ in charge you have to just accept this sliver of luxury from me."

 

"Wow, okay," Ed says, a little stung but not sure by what. "Let's go eat caviar with Yoki's people, sure. It'll be normal and fine."

 

Al rolls his eyes at him and leads the way to their cabin. It turns out First Class is cleaner, more comfortable, and more spacious than Business or Economy, and the sliding door to the compartment is made of solid wood instead being hollow, but it's not like there's, you know, gold trim everywhere, which makes Ed feel a little less weird about it. Al must perceive him relax about it a little, because he nudges Ed's shoulder companionably.

 

"You said it yourself, three days in here is a long time," Al says. "We can afford it. It's fine."

 

"Yeah," Ed says grudgingly.

 

The two of them settle into the compartment and wait for the ticketmaster guy to come around and make sure they're not children stacked inside of a big suit or whatever. The guy seems impressed that they're going all the way to Xing, not getting off in East City or the Western Desert Station or anything. He tells them to "have fun, kids," which makes Ed wonder how old he thinks they are, but he doesn't ask them if they have a chaperone, so… probably they're good.

 

For the second time in a week, Ed watches the Rush Valley canyons disappear out the window. Fortunately, he doesn't start crying this time. It still feels strange.

 

"So," Al says after a while.

 

"Hm?" Ed says, looking up at him from the window.

 

"You can see what I was up to now," Al tells him with a little grin, producing with a flourish a big orange envelope from his carry-on.

 

"Oh, right!" Ed says, "Gimme gimme gimme." Al hands it to him and he untwists the little tie thingy eagerly. Inside are… more envelopes. He pulls the first one out. It's addressed in an overly neat hand to one "ERRDADLI!WEC," from a "LYIGANO."

 

"Motherfucker," Ed says in awe. "'Business in town' my ass. You went all the way to fucking _Resembool?"_

 

"Yup," Al says smugly. "Caught the last morning train there, afternoon train back."

 

"Holy shit," Ed says.

 

"Granny said she figured they were probably for you, but she didn't wanna just send you someone else's mail if she was wrong," Al explains. "She has no patience for puzzles, she says."

 

"I, on the other hand…" Ed says, already rifling through the other envelopes. "Boy, that guy just kept writing, huh?"

 

"He sure did," Al says. "Anyway, I figured that should keep you busy for three days."

 

Ed makes a face. "Probably more like a day and a half. His codes aren't super hard." Al snorts. "Hey," he adds, "Thanks, Al."

 

"You're welcome," Al says.

 

"Sorry I've been being a bitch," Ed says, and Al laughs at him.

 

"It's fine," Al says. "And you haven't been _all_ that horrible." Ed groans. "Go decode your fancy puzzles, brother. Validate my efforts."

 

"Yeah, okay," Ed says. He opens the first envelope and places the letter carefully on the table between himself and Al. "Okay, so see the address envelope, right? That's the key, because it's always my name here and his name there." He points at the address. "This looks like a rail fence cipher."

 

"Okay, I'll bite," Al says, as Ed rifles around in his own briefcase to find a piece of scrap paper to write on. "What's a rail fence cipher?"

 

"It's a really simple cipher. You basically write your message diagonally up and down in a zigzag, and then the ciphertext is read from left to right. So his name here is L-Y-I-G-A-N-O, because he did this," Ed explains. He writes it on the scrap paper:

L                  Y

     I        G        A

        N                  O

"And my name is E-R-R-D-A-D-L-I-W-E-C because he did this," he continues. He writes:

E                       R                        R

     D           A           D           L           I

          W                        E                        C

 

"Huh," Al says. "And you guys didn't just write to each other like normal people… why, exactly?"

 

Ed shrugs, feeling his ears start to burn again. "This is what he was talking about when he said I needed stuff to obsess over," he says.

 

"Good lord," Al says. "I think he may have just wanted you to obsess over _him."_

 

"Well, it's working," Ed mutters. "Five years later. God. Okay, let's see the letter…" He pulls the letter over.

 

"Hey, Ed?" Al says, sounding a little amused.

 

"What's up," Ed says, peering at the letter.

 

"Hmm, how to say this…" Al wonders. He ends up with, "I dunno that I need to know what the letters say."

 

"Oh," Ed says. "Right. Yeah. Sorry. Go read your book."

 

"Uh huh," Al says, still amused. "Have fun, brother."

 

"Thanks," Ed says. Al turns back to his book, and Ed starts decoding the letter.

 

His and Ling's names were easy to decode because he already knew what they were. It was just a matter of guessing how many lines the zig-zag took up, and "three" is a pretty easy guess. But the body of the letter is just paragraphs of letters with no indication of how many lines of zigzags there might be.

 

The letter reads:

 

degyrfiineooaiwitmmtvtgftyeyfndnssnerdmldoaetidnlfirsmolosrnekohwtsooeoefeeeyhnadidhtorvrdfeetnnoeleacagdaiaunngeebttgnoicharrinnaueiraoehhe ilgvhsalogldhlnloetdmnlneteeirantheurniayroedhsveolnrityxmltntniteiohtalntntlmnotebiadalgionasiseoadalatrggomdbcemeownoesosimebtyeiglthrektyttmofotiaiaeenrtlyniotsnielaisiriooneavrtieymgioieauorinsieymntdhtpytnefriehyonltotaseprodogtsytovrtetkiatedhepigakuoignsfhnbnuiapanfhsclrlgstyccdsraokirsgragtuscomeieiumnneatehatltenltngiteclgieae

aoteopmlaottfaraahsaldustmsilwfoeletuseeratdnodshcirrolgeldgndncmyhkocuyeepsnteyusnudaijsetuidiisraaitafermsfsiponkotsovtroewmkfaoygnianmeneenfaandyteeaecresenhsedoymbtdolbfytmabmatmatndtisirfxeotkuponbseyaouuhaoefsowyestiepopbiodyoteeptpmaibehocktasaejciwokteltreutiomsfotesdetigoieoldoapcohfgttytsutgawsmwrolhxobtttalretohevsdeolonndyewiuioste

aoinayoinhpwnigsyroyulnyiedrowdhenerdgwdynydenivemfnaeoaaelatefrreyurlooi

 

Ed settles in for a long morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i'm ending this chapter there because /i/ think codes are really fun and i wanna give anyone else a chance to solve it themselves before i post the solution BUT... IF YOU DON'T WANT TO PUT THAT MUCH EFFORT INTO CONSUMING A FANFICTIÓN... then no worries the solution will be in the next chapter which will be up in LESS than a week.
> 
> ok on to notes and counterfactuals  
> \- it turns out [amestris is fucking teeny weeny](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/fma/images/f/f3/MAP.png/revision/latest?cb=20140303220335)... rush valley is ABOUT 60 miles/100km-ish from central + resembool both, and i guess i assume the trains dont move all that fast... plus stops... probably everything's about 3 hrs away from everything else basically  
> \- *slaps all my interests and character flaws onto edward elric and calls it a day*  
> \- ok honestly i know ed was ultra chill about money as a 15 year old but At Some Point You Grow Up And You Don't Have A Real Job But You Know What You Do Have? You Have Anxiety  
> \- real earth religions obviously dont exist in fma but also ? im team jewish elric-rockbells


	5. oatie-o's

_ dear ed im glad you arent finding life in resembool too strange i know how it is to come home after everything and find that youre very different and no one else has changed im still trying to convince the advisors that i really am not going to kill mei and our other siblings and i really am going to end that stupid system once and for all i mean theyre going to let me do it because im emperor now and no one gets to say shit to me ever but theyre taking it a little hard they keep trying to talk me out of doing things as if i havent been neurotically planning for this since literally age six anyway good news is that since im emperor now people bring me food all day long and they dont expect me to pay them back for it because theyre not cheapskates and also they are my subjects and it would look bad if they just let me starve but i must admit i do miss amestrian food a little it was so different from xingese food its like you people dont know about spices so you have to figure out other ways to make stuff taste good anyway ed i hope you and winry are doing well and say hi to everyone for me your friend ling _

 

"Ling says hi. Five years ago."

 

"Hi Ling-five-years-ago."

 

_ dear ed im not sure if you got my last letter or if your reply got lost or if youre just busy but i havent received anything from you since april i hope you are well! i saw al briefly yesterday and he seems to be doing fine although he really is much shorter now which im sure you find satisfying i told him to drink more milk and he rolled his eyes at me do you know i actually find myself wishing someone would talk back to me? even when my advisors think im being a moron theyre still all oh your wisdom knows no bounds even though it goes against all obvious tradition o son of heaven and im like yes indeed youre right but also maybe you could stand to suck up to me a little less it makes me not trust your advice anyway ed other than that this whole thing has been great i love being emperor and whats more i think im really good at it anyway that is what has been happening here write me back faster you awful friend!! all my best etc etc your friend ling _

 

They pass through Ishval that evening. Ed forces himself to take a break from the letters and watch the ruined and healing landscape chug past. The train goes right through the center of the region, where buildings have been rebuilt the most, but as they leave the main population center, the land turns skeletal. Huge swathes of land are still expunged of any sign of recent life, scorch marks and rubble the only evidence that people ever lived there at all. In the twilight Ed can only just see wild grasses and desert brush beginning to colonize the ruins. He breathes through it. Gutted and growing. They make it to the desert.

 

_ Dear Ed, My life rocks even though you are ignoring me and my letters, which is very rude! Is it because I said Amestrians don't know about spices? Because I'm right and you don't. Sorry. It is just the truth. I hope you appreciate that this new code lets me use capital letters and punctuation. I could feel the judgment of my Amestrian professors upon me. It's been raining a lot here so I have been even more cooped up in the palace than I normally am. I swear one of these days I'm going to start sneaking out somehow. I bet Lan Fan would help me if I said she could come along. At least I have things to do all day. Lan Fan just has to stand there and prevent anyone from killing me which so far has only happened a couple times, NOT including every time I get mail and none of it is from YOU! I know you're a busy guy but my God! The disrespect. Write me back!! Your friend, Ling _

 

At this point, Ed realizes, the remaining letters will only get more and more frustrated with his lack of reply, because Ed's a stupid asshole and Ling's a stubborn asshole. To delay—or draw out?—the shame, Ed sets aside the rest of the letters for the next day. They do have to last him three days, after all, and besides it's dinner time.

 

"Having fun?" Al asks him over their potato soup.

 

"Well," Ed says, and explains the problem.

 

"Hmm," Al says. "I mean, what's done is done. It was a dumb mistake, you both know what happened now, and he clearly doesn't hate you for it. So I wouldn't let it torture you too much."

 

"Hmmm," Ed says.

 

"But also maybe you should sleep on it, yeah," Al adds. Ed rolls his eyes, but he sets aside the letters and tries to absorb Al's explanation of Xingese political history.

 

He spends all the next morning decoding the middle letters, which are mostly comparable in content and tone to the last one. The exact nature of the "please reply" varies from letter to letter, depending apparently on whether Ling was feeling solicitous, discouraged, or outraged at the time of writing. The desert heat really starts to hit halfway through the letter calling Ed an ungrateful microorganism. Ed takes his jacket off and pins his braid up against his head like Hawkeye does so it isn't on his neck. Al cracks the window, but the breeze is so hot that it actually doesn't help all that much. On the bright side, his leg feels great.

 

The second-to-last letter stands out against the others, because it isn't really in code. It's actually just composed of cut-out words and individual letters from Amestrian magazines pasted onto a piece of paper like a ransom note from a movie. It reads:

 

dEAr ED, i  _ DON'T  _ miSs You at ALL and  _ You're _ nOT inVITeD to My  _ BIRTHDAY BASH!  _ i Don't knOw exactLY what A  _ BIRTHDAY BASH  _ woULd look LIKE as OppoSEd to A Regular  _ party _ But this Magazine SEEms to be VERY into  _ the  _ idEa. I DIGRess! My  _ poor  _ HEART is brokeN By your UNfriendLY silence. as THE AerugianS say, R.S.V.P.! Your Friend, liNg :(

 

Ed slides that one wordlessly across the table to Al and slides down in his seat until he's at eye level with the table. Al reads it silently and stifles a laugh. "Oh, Ed," he says, "This is so fucking sad."

 

"I  _ know,"  _ Ed whines. "God, he musta thought I was such a jackass."

 

Al shrugs. "I saw him a couple times and he never complained about you."

 

"Yeah, because he probably thought I  _ hated  _ him and he didn't wanna make it weird. … Really, he never asked about me?" Ed asks, sitting up a little.

 

"Well, yeah. I never thought anything about it because I assumed you were writing regularly," Al says reasonably. "I guess he probably said to say hi to you or something."

 

"God," Ed groans, and reaches for the last letter. The envelope is addressed to  _ You Know Who You Are,  _ which Ed thinks is probably a bad sign. It's also kind of bulky, clearly full of some sort of particulate—dirt, maybe? Ed would deserve it, he thinks darkly. He opens the envelope carefully and peers inside—

 

It's full of glitter. 

 

He sighs and carefully reaches in with his thumb and forefinger to fish out the letter. The paper has been folded messily into the shape of an angry face, presumably the better to contain glitter in, and Ed resigns himself to getting it all over his lap. The breeze from the window catches some and blows it around the compartment, so at least Al is suffering too. Ed unfolds the letter, careful not to rip the paper, and sees that it's actually just written in plain Amestrian, no code or anything.

 

_ Dear Ed, _

_ HAHA! _

_ At this point I assume someone fucked up somewhere and you just have not been receiving these letters. Your brother assures me you're still alive and not evidently in any sort of mortal danger, which I suppose is all I can ask for. At some point our paths will cross again and then I shall bully you into writing me again! In the meantime I hope my past letters do eventually reach you because I sank a lot of time into them and also I would feel bad for glitter-bombing anyone but you. Until we talk again, I remain _

_ Your friend, _

_ Ling _

 

Ed huffs a laugh to himself and sits back in his seat. At Al's questioning hum, he says, "Nothin'. I'm just gonna give that bastard the biggest noogie when we see him."

 

"Oh, a noogie, huh? Is that what we're calling it these days," Al teases.

 

"AL."

  
  


\---

  
  


Ed spends Train Day Three pointedly not re-reading Ling's letters, eschewing them in favor of learning how to say things like "please" and "thank you" and "where is the bathroom" in Xingese. Al is very patient with him, but he just doesn't really get the whole "tones" thing. He's just no good at languages; he's always been more of a science-and-patterns kinda guy anyway.

 

"Okay, so, riddle me this, Al, what if I successfully ask someone where the bathroom is, and then they actually  _ tell  _ me?" Ed asks. "I'll just be standing there like a dummy while some poor schmuck tries to communicate with me like an adult. And I'll still need to pee."

 

Al rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. "Don't worry, your Xingese is nowhere near good enough that someone will hear your question and think you'll be able to understand a spoken answer. They'll point you in the right direction or  _ at most  _ draw you a little map."

 

"That's only a little reassuring, buddy," Ed tells him. Al shrugs, grinning.

 

"At least your written Xingese isn't terrible," he points out. "If all else fails you can just write your question down."

 

"I only know how to write your address and Ling's," Ed admits. "And I forget your addresses as soon as you move."

 

Al squints at him. "How come you still remember Ling's even though you didn't correspond at all for five years? … For that matter, how come  _ you  _ didn't write him any letters like 'Stop ignoring me'?"

 

"Okay well I remember Ling's address because the first half is just 'the palace' and that's a pretty simple little pictogram, it's just a two-story building with a hat on top, like a crown," Ed starts.

 

Al interrupts him with a sigh. "It's two rooms and that's a  _ roof,  _ dummy."

 

"The point stands," Ed says. "And then Ling's name is just two little guys hangin' out and then this kinda grumpy guy flipping you off." He draws the words to illustrate his point.

 

Al squints at it. "Who told you that's how to write Yao?"

 

"Ling did? Literally who else?"

 

Al shakes his head. "That's a different Yao. His name is written like this," he says, and he writes a different character on the scrap paper. "It's on all the seals and everything."

 

"What the hell?" Ed mutters. Different Yaos…

 

Al stares at the paper, and then seems to have a realization, as he stifles a laugh. "It's a joke," he explains, chuckling. "The one he gave you means 'handsome.'"

 

"How vain!" Ed mock-gasps. "Ah! That bastard! I bet all the palace staff think I'm illiterate now."

 

"To be fair, you  _ are  _ illiterate," Al says. "In Xingese, anyway."

 

"Yeah, well," Ed mumbles.  _ "That  _ one's not my fault."

 

"Anyway, why didn't you keep writing him? Since  _ you  _ had the right address this whole time," Al insists.

 

Ed slumps back in his seat. "I dunno," he says honestly. "I guess it was sorta that I was busy. And I was still waiting on him to reply to me. And I figured  _ he  _ was  _ really  _ busy, and maybe it didn't look good for him to be constantly writing to some no-one in Amestris, or something."

 

Al looks at him. "You're not a no-one, brother," he says.

 

"No, I mean, I know I'm not a no-one, but I'm a no-one  _ in Xing,  _ is what I'm saying," Ed explains. "My self-esteem isn't  _ that  _ low, c'mon, Al."

 

"No, I know," Al says, "I mean you're not a no-one in Xing, either. What, you think Ling just got back to Xing with a Philosopher's Stone right as the Amestrian government imploded and no one asked him any questions? Anyone who keeps up with international news there thinks we're the shit. People are gonna be approaching you in the street like 'Are you that guy?'"

 

"... Wait. What?" Ed says.

 

"Ed, you're my brother and I love you and you're probably the smartest guy I know, but you are so dumb," Al says.

 

"Hey," Ed says, but he doesn't deny it, because, well.

 

"This is gonna be some trip," Al laughs. "You're gonna be trying to introduce yourself to his advisors and they're gonna be like,  _ Yeah, and you're an aquarius and your blood type is O and you ate oatie-o's for breakfast today…" _

 

Ed squints at him. "I don't know if  _ I  _ knew my blood type was O."

 

Al shrugs. "It was a guess, I don't know either," he admits. "Anyway, you're like, kinda big news in the capital. I was too, but now people are mostly used to me."

 

"Wow," Ed says. "I'm not at all emotionally prepared for that reality."

 

Al laughs at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE YOU GO... im sorry the rest of the letters arent presented in code but Ah.. My Stamina...
> 
> the good news for those of yall who've followed me over here from my jjba days is that this fic will contain all the trademarks of a golden age etymologyplayground fic:  
> \- cultural differences actually being explored  
> \- meals as crucial social bonding time  
> \- way too much research into languages i dont speak so that i can make one-off jokes  
> \- characters encouraging each other to pursue real emotional growth  
> \- people sitting on hotel beds talking about stuff
> 
> okay now we're arriving upon the really xing-heavy part of the story and that means it's time for HARDCORE... NOTES AND COUNTERFACTUALS... TO BEGIN... get READY  
> \- obviously xing is Fantasy China and, by extension, xingese is Fantasy Mandarin! here's the thing: i don't speak mandarin! i'm using uhh casual research plus google translate for these bad boys
> 
> REGARDING LING'S NAME  
> \- okay so. theres some counterfactuals here wrt ling's name and literally all my decisions are based ultimately off what would be funnier so i apologize for that  
> \- firstable, unclear why the official eng tlation for his name is "ling" instead of "lin"?? it's lin in japanese. it's lin in chinese. ?? im rendering it as ling in this fic bc that's what most ppl are used to but i do love lin  
> \- as far as i can tell, the OFFICIAL chinese translation of ling's name is: 姚麟 wherein the yao character REALLY IS handsome yao 姚 and the lin character means unicorn (as in qilin/kirin/etc) 麟 lin. source: chinese wikipedia for fma lmao  
> \- however sometimes?? it's translated as lin 林 which is a forest (it's two trees lol not two guys hangin out). there's not a lot of english language discussion of the chinese tlation of fma SHOCKER but i think this is probably a fan translation vs official translation thing.  
> \- anyway i wrote the name translation scene before i remembered Chinese Wikipedia Is A Resource I Can Use fkdjfkjfkfj but i thought it would be funnier to leave the scene like that and only a VERY few people would care to correct me. for what it's worth in the world of this fic the real version of his name is 尧 which is yao as in the irl yao emperor, which i thought made more sense anyway!  
> \- incidentally handsome yao 姚 is made up of the characters for 'woman' and 'misfortune' LOL
> 
> REGARDING "and you're an aquarius and your blood type is O" ETC  
> fma is like the only fuckin manga where the author never gives us the charas' bdays/blood types/fave foods/ETC so i MADE IT UP! i dont feel strongly abt the blood type thing dkfjdfkdj but i do think he's an aquarius bitch which… incidentally…….. goes very well with leo………….. (Ling Yao Is A Leo)
> 
> anyway.............. see you all next week!!!!!! hope u ENJOYED!!!! as always im on twitter @startmagjojos and tumblr @megafaunatic


	6. water buffalo

They get to the Eastern Desert Station on the Xingese border at eight in the morning on what would have been Train Day Four but is in fact Lan Fan Express Day One. At Al's suggestion, they take a second before disembarking to shove hats on over their hair, just to minimize strangers recognizing and wanting to talk to them. Then they stumble out of the train into the sandblown station, dragging their luggage behind them. Perhaps not surprisingly, there's only a couple dozen other people at the station; most are dressed in the style of the desert people, all fine draping cotton, with most of the face covered to keep out the sand. As the wind whips through the tunnel between the train and the building, Ed finds himself thinking they've got the right idea about that shit.

 

One person splits off from a group of five and approaches him and Al. Her face is mostly covered, but as she approaches Al nudges him, and he sees that one of her arms is automail.

 

"Ah! Lan Fan!" he greets her.

 

"Shht!" she reprimands him. "Try to avoid using full names. You are as subtle as ever, Edward." She nods at Al, who does a little half-bow to her, and says in a much more friendly voice, "Welcome back to Xing, lǎoshī."

 

"Thank you," Al says. "Are you well?"

 

She cuts a dismissive glance at Ed. He can see judgment in her dark eyes. "I'm about as well as I could be, given the circumstances," she says darkly. "Come along, Elrics." She turns and leads them out of the train station. Her four compatriots don't follow immediately; Ed assumes they'll be a tail.

 

"How come she likes you so much?" he mutters to Al.

 

"Because we see each other every once in a while and have a civil conversation or two," Al whispers back. "Whereas the last time she saw you was seven years ago in Hell."

 

"Oh, come on," Ed hisses.

 

"I don't think she _really_ blames you for… most things," Al continues, still in an undertone. "But you do kind of represent a lot of fuck shit for her. Also I'm sure she knows about how you ghosted Ling."

 

"By _accident!"_ Ed emphasizes.

 

"You two know I can hear you, right?" Lan Fan says to them. Ed cringes. She lengthens her stride. "Hurry up, I want to get to the holloways before we attract too much attention."

 

They round the corner of the station, where there are mules and—oho!—camels tied up by little troughs of water. There's a couple carriages and carts and things, and behind them…

 

A dusty black car. Lan Fan pulls out a key and unlocks the trunk, and Ed and Al throw their luggage in.

 

"When you really think about it, isn't an automobile really just a smaller, faster train?" Ed whispers to Al. Al bursts out laughing.

 

"Get in, you goof," he says, and Ed obeys with a snicker. Lan Fan has bags of her own in the front passenger seat, so Ed and Al stay in the back like it's a taxi, with Al behind the driver's seat.

 

Lan Fan starts the car, and then she turns around to look at both of them. "Okay," she says, "before we begin, let's get some things straight. Alphonse is correct that I like him because I see him more frequently and he causes no problems for me. He is also correct that I dislike _you,_ Edward Elric, because you have pretty much only caused problems for me and you haven't even ever bothered to visit His Holiness the Emperor, our _friend."_

 

"I—" Ed protests, but she cuts him off.

 

"Seven years! Seven years you stayed in Amestris, and from what I hear unhappily at that! No. You have a lot of sucking up to do, Elric." She puts the car into reverse and backs out carefully, then turns back around to face the road. "The young—I mean, the Son of Heaven may have forgiven you with a laugh because he thinks you can do no wrong, but I am meaner than he is."

 

"God, okay," Ed says, taken aback. "I mean, fine, that's fair."

 

"It _is,"_ Lan Fan agrees viciously. She huffs in exasperation and pulls the wheel around. Ed and Al exchange a look as the car rattles to the right. The roads out here aren't paved, and although the desert is beginning to give way to a more shrubby landscape, the ground still tends to shift under the weight of the vehicle. "Nevertheless!" She lifts a hand from the wheel and points a finger in the air. "You are welcome in this country and in his home and so I'm getting all my distaste for you out now and then I shall hold my tongue. As his guest, you are under my protection, and no harm will come to you."

 

"Wow," Ed says. "Okay. Uh, thank you, I think."

 

"Thanks, Lan Fan," Al says drily. "He'll try really hard to stay out of your hair. Right, brother?"

 

"Right," Ed says. "Yeah. Yep. No mischief outta me."

 

"Hm," Lan Fan says. She shifts gears to go faster.

 

"Hey, look out the window," Al tells Ed quietly. "All the plants are different on this side of the desert."

 

Ed looks. They're going too fast to really take a good look at anything, but Ed can tell he's right; on the Amestrian side there's mostly low, fat succulents, but here the plants are spinier-looking. He watches them fly past as the car descends into cautious silence. Obviously Ed doesn't like being scolded or disliked, but it actually is a little reassuring to know Ling's got Lan Fan looking out for him. Even if she's looking out for him against Ed.

 

They whip down the roads, the car bouncing uncomfortably as they turn into increasingly smaller and less-well-kept lanes. The vegetation grows slowly taller and more lush as they leave the desert behind, and the sun beating down on the black car gets hotter. After an hour or so Lan Fan rolls down her window, and Ed and Al follow her lead. The air gushing through the windows is already hot and soupy, and the sound of insects washes in. The road dips down deeper and deeper into the earth, and Lan Fan slows the car down a little as natural walls rise up around them like a tunnel with no roof.

 

"This is a holloway," Al explains to Ed, his voice raised to carry over the wind. "People have been using this road for so long that constant use and erosion from rain water have carved it into the dirt."

 

"Whoa," Ed says.

 

"I take them to avoid attention," Lan Fan says. "Automobiles are common in the capital, but this far into the country they stand out. It helps to be below eye level."

 

"Yeah, it's pretty much the same deal in Amestris," Ed says. Now that they're going more slowly, he can see thick woody roots sticking out of the dirt walls. "But we don't have holloways as far as I know."

 

Lan Fan grunts in acknowledgment. Al shoots him a little thumbs up. They fall back into relative silence as the car jostles its way down the lane. Ed sticks his face out the window, mentally cataloguing all the different plants. Every once in a while he sees a flicker of wings above the holloway, shades of brown and grey and, once or twice, bright orange. He can feel his skin getting sticky in the wet heat and his breathing evening out.

 

Around noon he pulls himself back from the window and looks over at Al only to find him asleep with his head against the window frame on the other side. Ed snorts and takes off his jacket, balls it up, and leans over to shove it between Al's head and the car. "Dummy," he mumbles. Al nestles into the jacket, which Ed assumes means his efforts are appreciated.

 

"You're a good brother," Lan Fan says quietly. "Despite your other flaws."

 

Ed hadn't realized she'd see. But then again, he guesses it's her job to notice things, so. "Thanks," he says. "I feel like that's, like, the one thing I'm still good at."

 

She snorts. "That's rich, coming from you. Mr Hotshot Alchemist Saves The World."

 

Ed frowns at her. "Well, yeah, but that was then. Now I'm just… some dude who knows a lot of stuff and can't do shit."

 

"What do you mean?" Lan Fan drums her mismatched fingers on the steering wheel. "Surely there are uses for alchemy other than fighting. Even for you."

 

Ed leans forward in his seat and slings his arms around the empty passenger seat. "Lan Fan, I can't do alchemy anymore."

 

She glances back at him, her eyebrows pulled together just a little bit. "What?"

 

He shrugs. "I can't do it. Not even with a transmutation circle. I thought you'd know."

 

"No," she says. "I didn't. What happened that you can't do it anymore?"

 

"Al did," Ed says, nodding towards his sleeping brother. "That's how I got him back. It was him or my ability to do alchemy." He smiles ruefully. "It wasn't even a question. The shit I'd do for that kid."

 

"Hmm," Lan Fan says. After a moment she adds, "I understand the feeling."

 

"Yeah?" Ed asks.

 

"I'm two years older than—than His Holiness the Emperor. I've always been responsible for him," she admits. "Even before either of us understood what our relationship was built to be. He's… You cannot tell anyone any of this," she interrupts herself. "Yes?"

 

"Yeah, sure, absolutely," Ed says.

 

"He is the brother of my _soul,"_ Lan Fan tells him. "It's not really allowed. We made a pact in secret when he was ten and I was twelve. Too old for such things, you know. But it's true. We renew it every year."

 

Ed grins at her. "That's really, really sweet," he says sincerely. "I'm glad you have each other." And then because he's an asshole who always has to push things, he adds, "'Brother,' huh?" with a raised eyebrow.

 

Lan Fan raises her eyebrows right back at him, making eye contact without turning her face from the road. "Yes, 'brother.' That's how I love him. His blood is my blood."

 

"Huh," Ed says. "Yeah, I get that."

 

"And that's why if you're as shitty a friend to him while you're here as you were while you were in Amestris, I will personally escort you back into the desert," she adds. "And leave you there."

 

"That's fair," Ed sighs. "You know it was an accident, right?"

 

"Yes," she says. "And I know that's no excuse. You owe him an apology. He doesn't think he needs one. But you owe it to him. Try _harder."_

 

"Yeah," Ed says. "I—you're right. And I am sorry. I am gonna try harder."

 

"Good," she says shortly. After a moment she says, "Okay, you can get your arms off the seat now, our bonding moment is over and that's not a safe way to be in a car."

 

Ed laughs and leans back. "Uh huh. Good talk, Lan Fan."

 

"Good talk, Edward Elric."

  


*

  


It turns out that the stuff in the front seat is, among other things, lunch for the day. They stop around two and the three of them stumble around the empty lane, stretching limbs and backs and necks. Lan Fan hands Ed and Al little food items—some sort of filling folded into some sort of dough—and says, "I don't know what the word for this food or any of its ingredients is in your language, so don't ask. It's good."

 

It is good. Ed thinks there's cabbage and pork involved, and some sort of maybe-root vegetable. He eats a couple, which is pretty filling. "So Lan Fan," he asks with his mouth full, "how long until we get to the capital, d'you think?"

 

She squints at the sun, then at their surroundings, then at the sun again. "We could stop tonight at around eight and get there in the early day, or I could keep driving and we'd get there around two in the morning."

 

Ed looks at Al. Al looks at Ed. Ed asks, "Would you mind driving that late?"

 

Lan Fan looks at him. "No. At least one of you would have to stay awake with me. Not to keep me awake, obviously, but as penance."

 

Ed laughs. "I can do that," he volunteers.

 

"Such heroism," Al teases him. "You should sleep this afternoon, then."

 

"Oh, if you insist," Ed says, but he does that.

 

He's retained his ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time from when he was sleeping for two people, so even in the moving car he's able to sleep pretty hard. When he wakes up it's dark out, and Al is shaking him gently awake.

 

"Wakey-wakey," he says cheerfully. "Penance time."

 

"Ghghghh," Ed groans, but he sits up and stretches to wake himself up. "Wh't time's it?"

 

"Eight," Al says. "Lan Fan and I agreed that we might as well just wait to eat dinner until we get there, since the palace'll have all sorts of food and we won't have to waste time stopping anywhere."

 

"Sure, sounds good," Ed says groggily. "Anything exciting happen while I was sleeping?"

 

"We hit a water buffalo," Lan Fan deadpans. "We barely made it out alive."

 

"A… what?" Ed says. "A water… I mean, I get that you're joking, but is that like a mythological creature, or something?"

 

She scowls at him. "No, fool, it's a big animal. It's real. Farmers use them to pull ploughs and things."

 

"You're shitting me," Ed says. Lan Fan rolls her eyes.

 

"She's not," Al says. "They're cool, they're like big cows with funky horns."

 

"What the hell," Ed mutters.

 

They drive in silence for another fifteen minutes, and then Al snaps his fingers and says, "Oh! Lan Fan, Ed doesn't know anything about court etiquette," and Lan Fan says, "You don't _say."_

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ed says, indignant.

 

"You can't call the Emperor by his given name in public," Lan Fan says bluntly. "I don't call him that even in private."

 

"Most of his advisors don't speak fluent Amestrian," Al says, "so you probably don't have to kill yourself calling him the Son of Heaven or something specific like that. But they'll notice if you call him Ling and everyone'll wig out."

 

"Wow," Ed says, recalling his phone conversation with Ling from the other day. _It feels weird as hell,_ he'd said. "Uh, okay. I'll do my best." He silently resolves to just not address Ling directly if there's important people around. At least in Amestris he's still pals with all the top dogs and no one _actually_ cares if he doesn't call Mustang 'Mr President.'

 

"Probably your best bet is to just let me do most of the talking to his advisors and stuff," Al decides. "Some of them know me already anyway."

 

"That sounds great," Ed says gratefully.

 

"For once Ed and I agree on something," Lan Fan says lightly.

 

"Ehh! Lan Fan," Ed whines, "we had a bonding moment, you're not supposed to be mean to me anymore."

 

"You had a bonding moment?" Al asks, perking up. "About what?"

 

"That's for us to know and for you to wonder about," Ed says primly.

 

"It's true, unfortunately," Lan Fan sighs. Al huffs dramatically, but he kinda punches Ed's shoulder in support.

 

They reach the end of the holloway after another half hour, emerging onto a larger road with some actual traffic—mostly horse-drawn carriages, and every once in a while a late-evening ox-cart, but the occasional automobile as well. Lan Fan has them roll their windows up finally. "From here we have about another three hours," she says.

 

"Gotcha," Ed says, desperately trying to think of stuff to talk about for three hours with Lan Fan that won't convince her to kill him and hide the body.

 

"Fortunately for you," she says, "we're out of the countryside, so we're listening to the radio unless you have something absolutely crucial to say."

 

"Nope, no, radio's good," Ed says. Al snorts. Lan Fan just rolls her eyes.

 

*

 

It's raining steadily when they finally reach the capital, and the water running down the windows turns the lights of the city into bright yellow and orange smears. Ed catches glimpses of people walking briskly around, mostly flitting from shop to shop under umbrellas. Lan Fan turns the radio down and points through the windshield. "This is the main street of the city. It goes right through the center up to the palace gates. If you get lost here, you just have to find this street and then you'll be fine," she tells him.

 

"Cool," Ed says. "Good to know."

 

He has his face pressed to the window again when he hears someone yelling faintly, "Taxi! Taxi!" It takes him a second to realize that it's strange for someone to be speaking Amestrian here.

 

"Uh, Lan Fan?" he starts, and then a hand slaps the window right by his face and he just about has a heart attack.

 

Lan Fan swears in Xingese. "Open the door, Ed," she sighs.

 

"What?" Ed says, but he does it, and comes face to face with an absolutely soaked-through wet-rat Ling.

 

"Ah, sweet stranger, how kind of you to share your taxi with me, a nobody," Ling says cheerfully. For lack of a better reaction, Ed scooches across the bench seat so he can climb in. "How can I ever repay you?"

 

Lan Fan says something scathing to Ling in Xingese and he laughs, delighted, and slams the door closed. Lan Fan starts the car again. Ed stares at him. His hair is down, falling past his shoulders and a little wavy for being drenched, and he's wearing some sort of carefully nondescript brown… garment. Thing. Ed can feel rain soaking into his own clothes already.

 

"Hi, Ling," Al says, leaning in front of Ed to execute some sort of complicated handshake with him.

 

"Al, good evening," Ling says, handshake achieved. He braces himself with one hand on the back of the passenger seat so he can turn to Ed. "Hello Ed. Fancy meeting you here."

 

"Hi," Ed manages, feeling strangled. "It's been a while. We don't have a secret handshake."

 

"You're right," Ling says, grinning a little. "We'll have to make one up. Thank the Creator that this world is full of alternate ways to greet a person."

 

Ed snorts, the sudden awkwardness in his chest dissipating. It's just Ling. "Yeah, okay," he says. He pulls Ling in for a hug, because he's an idiot and he already forgot how Ling is literally just dripping wet. Ling stiffens a little, presumably because he's a little less of an idiot, and Ed mutters, "it's fine. My shirt is already wet, it's too late."

 

Ling's cold hands come up after a moment to settle on Ed's back, and Ed can feel tension leave Ling's shoulders as he exhales carefully. "Hi, Ed," he says again, quietly.

 

"Hi, Ling," Ed says into his wet hair. This close he smells like fragrant smoke.

 

"If we get rear-ended you two are toast," Lan Fan says. "Put your seatbelts on."

 

"Right," Ed laughs, pulling away. He and Ling buckle themselves in, and Ed, feeling brave, slings his arm back around Ling's shoulders. "Ling, what the hell are you doing out?"

 

Ling smiles lopsidedly. "Well, I heard my dear friends were arriving in the middle of night. I couldn't just sleep through your arrival, could I?"

 

"Of course not," Al says cheerfully. 

 

"Sure, but you really had to track down our car?" Ed asks.

 

 

"He likes sneaking out of the palace," Lan Fan says. "Incidentally, I like saving up for early retirement."

 

"Ahh! Lan Fan! You wouldn't abandon me," Ling protests.

 

"Mm. I wouldn't," she admits. "But only because I don't trust anyone else to predict your nonsense as accurately as I can."

 

Ed snorts. "You wound me," Ling says.

 

"You'll get over it, o Son of Heaven," Ed mocks him.

 

"Ah, no, don't call me that," Ling says immediately. "It's Ling or nothing for you, Edward Elric."

 

"Wow, okay, sure," Ed says. "It's just Lan Fan and Al were over here worried I'd upset all your advisors."

 

"Oh, yeah, no, they'll hate it," Ling agrees. "But I'm the Emperor so I make the rules."

 

Ed shakes his head. "You're nuts," he says.

 

"I'll just tell 'em all that you're too dumb'n'foreign to know any better," Ling decides.

 

"It won't even be a lie," Lan Fan says.

 

"Hey," Ed says.

 

"You let _me_ call you 'Your Highness' this whole time," Al points out. "What gives, huh?"

 

"You're foreign, but you're too obviously smart for that to fly," Ling says.

 

"Hey!" Ed says. "What, aren't I smart? I'm the youngest—"

 

"Yes, yes, _we_ know you're smart, Ed," Ling says dismissively, "but," and then he says something in Xingese that makes Al hoot out loud and Lan Fan choke on nothing.

 

"What!" Ed shrieks. "What'd he say! Al! You have to tell me!"

 

"Oh, I'm not repeating those words aloud," Al laughs over Ling's cackling, "I'm not even sure I'd know how to translate that, oh, my God."

 

"You keep talking like that, you walk home," Lan Fan warns Ling. "Not in _my_ car."

 

"Yeah, Ling, c'mon," Ed says, tugging on his shoulder. "Don't be mean to me, I just got here."

 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Ling chuckles. "You just, you make it so easy."

 

"He really doesn't??" Al wheezes. "Oh, God, this trip is already so much. Oh, I should have known having Ed here would make Ling so much more… like this."

 

"Eh, how is he _my_ fault?" Ed gripes. "As far as I'm concerned he's always been like this."

 

"Yeah, because you only ever see him when he's _around you,"_ Al points out.

 

"You're my amplifier," Ling tells him gleefully. "My echo chamber for manic strangeness."

 

Ed can't help but grin. "I missed you," he says. "You fucking lunatic."

 

"I missed you too! Oh, my advisors are gonna lose their minds," Ling sighs. "Forget about telling them you're too dumb to address me properly, you can just never ever be in a room with me and them at the same time."

 

"I'm comfortable with that," Ed says. Lan Fan and Al both make enthusiastic sounds of agreement, which Ed thinks he should probably be insulted by, but he's too busy being relieved at the prospect of not having to suck up to a bunch of old politician dudes to worry about it.

 

"The three of us haven't eaten since noon," Lan Fan tells Ling. "Do with that information what you will."

 

Ling gasps in horror. Ed honestly can't tell if it's feigned or not. "How are you still alive? Skin and bones, et cetera. We're almost there. Your suffering won't be too protracted."

 

Ed snorts. "Thank heavens," he says. "I don't know what we would have done."

 

"Wasted away, no doubt," Ling says.

 

Lan Fan stops the car. Ed peers out through the windshield and sees that they've come to the gates of the palace. A guard approaches the drivers' side window and Lan Fan gives him a piece of paper, which gets them waved through. "Home, sweet home," Ling murmurs. "Welcome to the imperial palace, Elrics."

 

"Thanks," Ed says, as Lan Fan pulls the car slowly around.

 

"You go inside and eat and dry off," she says. "I'll see you in the morning."

 

"You're not gonna eat with us?" Ed asks.

 

"No," she says, in a tone that suggests he's a moron. "You're the Emperor's esteemed guests. I'm captain of the guard. We don't eat together in the palace."

 

"Oh," Ed says. "Uh, okay. Thanks for driving us. You weren't as mean to me as you could have been." Ling laughs.

 

"My pleasure," Lan Fan says wryly. "You aren't as stupid as I feared you'd be."

 

"Thanks," Ed says, rolling his eyes. Ling opens the door and slides out of the car.

 

"Good night, Lan Fan!" he calls. Ed and Al echo him and clamber out into the rain.

 

"Good night," she says, popping the trunk. Ed circles around to the back and starts pulling their luggage out, and when they have everything out onto the muddy courtyard he slams the trunk and Lan Fan drives away into the rain.

 

Ed peers up at the palace. From what he can tell in the dark, it's pretty big, but he's immediately concerned by the multiple staircases leading to the main entrance.

 

He offers Ling a suitcase. Ling says, "For me?"

 

Ed says, "Yeah, to carry, Mr Host Man."

 

Ling says, "Oh, no thanks, I don't do manual labor."

 

"Emperors," Ed mutters, as Al laughs at him. He starts lugging his bags up the stairs.

 

"Whaaat. I'm already walking into my own palace looking like a drowned cat, I can't be seen carrying luggage like I'm some kind of doorman. What would people think?" Ling whines. He keeps pace with Ed so he can make pitiful faces at him.

 

"You are so spoiled," Ed tells him, already beginning to feel the stairs.

 

"Literally like a third of my job is just _looking good,"_ Ling says.

 

"Yeah, an' you can look good and carry a suitcase at the same time," Ed says.

 

Ling hums, squinting at him speculatively. "You may be right at that," he admits.

 

"Oh my GOD," Al says, behind them.

 

"Have a suitcase," Ed suggests. "Or, hey, take my briefcase, even, since you're such a delicate flower. Be careful with it in the rain, it's full of notes."

 

"Fine," Ling says, taking it from him.

 

"Or you could call for your actual, real life doormen, whose job it is to help carry stuff into the palace," Al points out.

 

"Ah, we're halfway up already," Ling says. "Anyway I'm sure they wouldn't recognize me like this. Normally when I sneak out I also sneak back in."

 

"How shitty _is_ your security?" Ed asks him.

 

"Oh, it's excellent. The _guards_ all recognize me, you see. It's everyone else who doesn't," he explains.

 

"Lunatic!" Ed repeats under his breath. "Why d'you sneak out anyway? Surely you're allowed to do whatever you want."

 

"Simple," Ling says. "If I only ever did stuff in my role as Emperor, I'd grow complacent. I gotta keep my skills, ya?"

 

"Hmm," Ed says. "That makes sense, I guess."

 

"Also, it's fun," Ling says. "And I've gotten to know the palace really well. I bet some other emperors would have lived a little longer if they knew all the secret passageways this place has."

 

"Everyone loves a secret passageway," Ed agrees. He stops to catch his breath and looks up at the palace, blinking rain out of his eyes. Now that they're a little closer, he can see the sheer scale of the place. It's all deep green colonnades and intricate gold details, illuminated from the inside with dozens and dozens of lamps. "Whoa," he says.

 

"Whoa indeed," Ling says in satisfaction. And then, "Keep going, I'm gonna catch a cold and die."

 

"Right," Ed says, shaking his head, and he keeps going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c ! its the freakin weekend baby !
> 
> HEY tumblr user spacey-thoughts did [a bunch of really cool and great fanart](https://spacey-thoughts.tumblr.com/day/2018/09/22) for chapters 1-3!!!!!! look at it here!!!!!!! i keep lookin at them the expressions are so good and funny :''')
> 
> NOTES AND COUNTERFACTUALS
> 
> \- lan fan calls al lǎoshī which is like.. According To Wikipedia is an honorific for someone who's very well educated but not necessarily LITERALLY a teacher, which i figured wd be appropriate - i think lan fan is generally of the "calling someone by their given name is Rude And Overly Familiar" camp. which is why she's constantly calling ed by his full name dkjfdkfj
> 
> \- unclear to me if irl china has any [holloways](https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/holloways-roads-tunneled-into-the-earth-by-time) (i assume there probably are some? all u need is soft dirt, human presence, and time) but i think they're neat so i put one in! (incidentally that article i just linked u to includes a quote from robert macfarlane who's one of my favorite writers!!) (incidentally 2: soft dirt, human presence, and time is also all /i/ need)
> 
> \- ok so........... now we are in xing! and most of the rest of this fic will be in xing! as i noted last chapter, xing is essentially Fantasy China, but to be more specific: from what little we're told about xing, it is in fact Fantasy Early 20th Century China, _Entirely Without European Imperialism._ which makes my neurotic desire to Research Everything... a little complicated! so in this fic most of the details wrt things that Date quickly - architectural styles, interior design, fashion, etc - are essentially based off the tail end of the qing dynasty irl, but i want to lean hard into the Fantasy aspect of the setting rather than like. go too hard with the realism in a weird way lol. you super dont have to worry about like Fantasy Opium Wars happening in this fic kdjdkjd
> 
> \- basically i'm trying to juggle "historical basis" with "my own worldbuilding" with "my desire to tell a goofy love story w/o getting bogged down in the details" with "my desire to actually see cultural differences explored in the text" with "the looming spectre of white supremacy and the knowledge that violence is possible even when intentions are good," and my audience... is you! (strikes a pose) my hope here is that, outside of the notes + counterfactuals, this juggling remains entirely behind the scenes. i want this fic to be fun and interesting and meaningful! but i also want to acknowledge the potential danger of any white person telling a story set literally in "fantasy china" and just like. be honest abt where im coming from + where im hoping to take u! **if u have questions/worries/corrections/etc that u want to share, i would love to hear them!!** i want to be as thoughtful + cool abt this as possible
> 
> ANYway............ as always i am on tumblr.hell @megafaunatic and twitter.hell @startmagjojos ! sorry for overthinking things constantly also but this is unfortunately just The Way I Am. you know how lin manuel miranda dropped the hamilton soundtrack on spotify and then immediately also his own annotations on the lyrics on genius? thats me but im not gonna make bank off this


	7. chopsticks

They reach the top of the steps at last, and then there's a brief whirlwind involving huge doors opening and guards speaking with Ling in rapid Xingese. Every once in a while Ed catches his or Al's name. The three of them are ushered into the palace, and someone finally takes Ed's big suitcase from him. Ed makes faces at Al as Ling continues his conversation with the guards.

 

Al slips closer to him. "He's telling them where to put our stuff," he explains in a whisper. "And asking for food and towels."

 

"Oh, neat," Ed says.

 

Ling claps his hands and the guards scuttle off to do his bidding. "This way, Elric brothers," he says cheerfully, already striding away. Ed and Al shrug at each other and follow him. As he walks, Ling puts his wet hair back up into a bun, squeezing rain out of it. 

 

He leads them through grand hall after beautiful courtyard after slightly less grand hall et cetera, finally winding up in a building that seems to maybe be residential. Ed's mental mapping abilities are pretty good, but even he's having trouble keeping up as Ling takes them through hallways with dozens of turn-offs. At last they come to a stop in front of a doorway and Ling takes out a keyring from somewhere with dozens of keys on it. Four locks later, he ushers the pair of them into a cozy little room with beautiful wooden furniture.

 

"My living room, I guess you'd call it," he says. "Well, one of them."

 

"Nice place," Ed says, looking around. The walls of the palace seem to be mostly precisely cut stone from the floor to about waist height, and then wood panels from there to the ceiling. In here the wood panels are elaborately carved. In the center of the room are a table with one chair at the head and benches on either side, also wood, also elaborately carved. 

 

A young woman wearing all grey and bearing a stack of towels knocks on the doorframe, and enters when Ling says something to her. She bows to Ling, and hands him a towel, then gives one to Al. Ling ignores her cheerfully, taking the chair at the head of the table and throwing the towel over his shoulders. He says, "Sit, sit," gesturing at the benches. 

 

Al sits down and starts toweling off his hair. The woman hands Ed the last towel. "Thanks," he says to her in Amestrian, like a dumbass, and then he tries again, "Uh, uhhh, xiexie. Actually I'm gonna keep standing for a hot sec," he adds to Ling, "I've got a case of Been In Car All Day."

 

Ling kinda looks at him, like he's a little surprised. Then he shrugs. "Yeah okay," he says. "Suit yourself. Let me know if you want, like, a hot compress, or something."

 

"I'll be good," Ed says, feeling self-conscious. "I just don't wanna sit down right now."

 

"Cool," Ling says.

 

"Cool," Ed says.

 

"Ed, you gonna use that towel or can I have it?" Al says. Oh, right. Ed sticks his tongue out at him and unfolds the towel. He stops for a second to unbraid his hair so he can dry it off.

 

"So Elrics," Ling says, "how was your trip? I understand Lan Fan was, what, 'nicer than she could have been'?"

 

"Less mean," Ed corrects. Ling snorts. "Nah, she's good. We only suffered a little bit. Probably deserved it."

 

"Ya? You I can imagine, but what did Al do?" Ling teases. 

 

"He's saying  _ us  _ when he means  _ I,"  _ Al says. "Lan Fan is always nice to me."

 

"Oh, good," Ling says cheerfully. "How horrible if she were unkind to poor Alphonse."

 

"Everyone gets to be mean to Ed, though, huh," Ed mock-grumbles, crossing one arm over the other in an uncomfortable stretch. A youth of getting his ass kicked on the regular has not made his body any more amenable to long hours in cramped quarters.

 

"If you don't like the teasing, I'll stop," Ling offers. "You seem to think it's funny, though."

 

Ed uncrosses his arms. "If you start being a hundred percent earnest at all times I'll kick you in the head," he says.

 

"There we go," Ling says, smirking. 

 

Ed sits down. "I didn't learn how to like you at your absolute worst and most annoying just to have you be nice to me once all the work was done," he explains smugly. Ling seems taken aback, his dark eyes wide and unusual and his mouth a little open in a dumb way, and Ed worries for a second that maybe  _ he  _ was too mean. But then Ling throws his head back in a delighted snorting cackle, so probably he's in the clear.

 

"Ed!" Ling manages. "Ed! You're so mean! Al, how could you have raised such a rude and ungrateful brother!"

 

"Whaaat?" Al says, laughing too. "How's he  _ my  _ fault, he's older than me! If anything, you should be wondering how such a rude and ungrateful person raised such a polite and perfect little brother."

 

Ed preens a little, as if Al's many real accomplishments reflect upon him whatsoever. But it's true! He did raise a polite and perfect little brother! Well—it was a group effort. Him and the Rockbells and the Curtises and even, God forbid, Mustang and Hawkeye a little bit. Hoenheim gets credit for like, five minutes at the end and that's it.

 

"Wow, you look really serious all of a sudden," Ling tells him.

 

"Sorry, I just started thinking about how proud I am of Al and I got distracted," Ed says.

 

"ED," Al says, embarrassed but pleased.

 

"It's true!" Ed says. "You're great! I'm proud of you!" Al hides his face in his hands.

 

"This is wild," Ling says, fascinated. "Is this what normal people's sibling relationships are like? Is this just normal?"

 

Ed pats his arm. "No," he says reassuringly.

 

"I think Ed and I are one end of a spectrum where you and Mei circa 1915 are on the other end. Normal people are mostly in the middle," Al says.

 

"Yeah, c'mon, Ling, the nerve of you to call us normal," Ed says.

 

"Right, right. My apologies," Ling says.

 

A knock at the door. Ling says something in Xingese, and a small army of palace workers enters. Each person has some sort of tray or carafe or stack of dishes, which they lay out on the table. Ed doesn't recognize most of it; there's, you know, soups and things, all soup just looks like soup, but there's no bread or cheese or whatever. There's some sort of small roasted poultry situation. Several dishes of noodles with various things in. It all smells strange and good and Ed really super has not eaten since noon.

 

"Oy," Ling says to him, handing him a pair of hilariously fancy wooden chopsticks. "You know how to use these?"

 

Ed takes them. There are a couple Xingese restaurants in Central and in East City, and he'd been a couple times, but the waitstaff had seen his metal hand and immediately handed him a set of Amestrian silverware every time. "Hm," he says noncommittally.

 

"It's not hard," Al says, demonstrating. Ed tries to copy the way he's holding them.

 

"No, not quite," Ling says, reaching over. He plucks the chopsticks back out of Ed's hand and positions one, then the other, curling Ed's fingers around them. "Like this. And then you lift the top one like this."

 

"Okay," Ed says, trying to die as unobtrusively as possible. "That makes sense." Ling kind of smirks at him. God, Ed is so fucking dumb.

 

Ling looks amused suddenly. He releases Ed's hand in favor of tugging gently at Ed's bangs. Ed looks at him like, ??

 

"You got some glitter in your hair," Ling says in explanation, pulling his hand away to show Ed and Al little sparkles. "What the hell were you two doing on that train?"

 

"Okay, for once it's not actually Ed's fault," Al says.

 

_ "Hey," _ Ed says. "But also he's right—it is in fact  _ your  _ fault, you bastard."

 

_ "My _ fault? How—" Ling starts, and then he apparently puts two and two together and starts cackling again.

 

"All right, I dunno if it's  _ that  _ funny," Ed grumbles.

 

"Did you get all of them?" Ling manages through his laughter. "Oh, no, Ed, did you read them?"

 

"Yes!" Ed tells him. "Yes, I did! What was your phrasing again? I'm a—what, an impertinent flea on the dog of Amestris? Is that it?"

 

Ling hoots. "I don't know!" he gasps. "It was years ago!"

 

"I'm gonna give you a noogie when you least expect it," Ed warns him.

 

"I don't know what that word means so I'm going to assume it's something fun. Some sort of gift, perhaps," Ling informs him.

 

"Uh huh," Ed says. "You keep thinkin' that."

 

"Ed, if you try to give him a noogie in public, you'll get arrested," Al says. "Just so you know."

 

"Wow, a  _ really  _ fun gift," Ling says. Ed swats at him.

 

"Oy," he says. "Thought you were supposed to be, like, regal now. You've got subjects and everything." 

 

Ling snickers. "You aren't my subject. You're my friend. That means I get to make vulgar jokes with you."

 

"Hmmmmmm," Ed says, maintaining eye contact as he tries to grab something off the nearest platter without looking. Fails. Tries again. Fails.

 

Ling raises his eyebrows.

 

"Ah, hubris," Ed sighs, looking away so he can actually see what he's doing. Ling immediately snaps his arm out to nab what turns out to be some sort of small bun or dumpling or something before Ed can coordinate himself. He stuffs it in his mouth and makes a triumphant sound, as if he's actually achieved anything of note.

 

"Better than boot?" Ed asks. Ling grimaces at him, but since his mouth is full it's not nearly as effective as he's going for. Ed sticks out his tongue.

 

"You guys are so fucking weird," Al tells them.

  
  


*

  
  


An hour later Ed has more or less figured out chopsticks. He slides over so he's lying sideways on the bench and groans. "I ate too much too fast," he says pathetically. Someone pats his head condescendingly.

 

"Poor baby," Ling says. "I didn't realize that was a problem a person could have."

 

"You're inhuman," Ed tells him, eyes closing, "so that checks out."

 

"Ah, that was just a phase," Ling says airily. Ed kicks at him without looking and snickers when it connects.

 

"Ed, if you fall asleep I'm leaving you here," Al warns him. "You'll get a crick in your back besides."

 

"I'm not gonna fall asleep," Ed protests. "I'm just restin' my eyes a little."

 

"Uh huh," Al says skeptically. What does he know!

 

The next thing he knows, someone's shaking him awake. "Ed," they're saying. "Ed, hey Ed."

 

"Gghrghhgrm," he says, swatting at them ineffectually. "What, God, I'm awake."

 

_ "Are _ you?" they say. Ed cracks an eye open. It's Ling. Ed sticks his tongue out at him.

 

"Yeah," Ed insists. "Hang on." He struggles to pull himself upright. "God, I feel like I've been run over by a tank," he complains, rolling his shoulders. "I really ain't fifteen anymore, huh."

 

"I'm not carrying you to your room," Al tells him.

 

"Fortunately I seem to recall someone else here owing me a piggyback ride," Ed says, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

 

"That's interesting, because  _ I  _ seem to recall being thrown over your shoulder like a sack of rice," Ling says. 

 

"Eh," Ed says. "Piggyback ride. Sack of rice. Same difference."

 

Ling snorts. "Sure, Ed," he says, but then he stoops and slides his arms under Ed to pick him up bridal-style.

 

"I was joking!" Ed shrieks over Al's surprised laughter. "Ling! — I thought you said you didn't do manual labor."

 

"Nonsense," Ling says cheerfully. "I'm young and strong, ah! This isn't labor." He spins around to emphasize this fact.

 

"Oh, God, okay you actually cannot do that, I'll puke," Ed tells him, bracing himself with one arm around Ling's shoulders. Ling obliges.

 

"You want me to set you down?" he asks.

 

"Well, no, now I need to go through with it," Ed reasons. "Put me down and face my wrath, Ling Yao."

 

Ling laughs at him. Ed thinks,  _ Handsome.  _ He blinks. Before he can do something stupid like express that opinion, Ling says, "Okay, let's get you two to your rooms. This Ling has to wake up at six in the morning tomorrow. Well, today. In three hours."

 

"Lead the way," Al says, amused.

 

"Right," Ling says. He doesn't go to the door they'd entered the room from; instead he goes to a far wall and says, "Ed, if you'll do the honors."

 

He looks at the wall. It's just a wall. "What… honors am I doing here, exactly?" he asks.

 

"You see the lamp on the wall?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Pull it out from the wall," Ling tells him.

 

Ed gives him a skeptical look, but he does as he's told, and a  _ whole secret door opens up,  _ just like in a movie.

 

"Ahhh what the hell," Ed breathes.

 

"I told you," Ling says smugly, "secret passageways," and he steps into the dark. "Don't stick any limbs out too far, the walls are narrow."

 

Al follows with a lamp from the table. Ed looks at him over Ling's shoulder and gets an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle in return. He huffs a laugh.

 

"What're you laughing at," Ling asks, speaking quietly in the dark.

 

"Nothin'," Ed whispers, "Al's just being a goofball."

 

"He's more relaxed with you here," Ling tells him. "In the past he's always been a little stiff. Not rude. But not so informal."

 

"What can I say," Ed says. He raises his whisper-voice a little so Al can hear when he says, "The kid just idolizes me!"

 

Al rolls his eyes, just visible in the lamplight, and Ling snickers quietly. 

 

He takes an abrupt right turn, and Al disappears briefly from view, the light from his lamp disappearing entirely. Ed tenses instinctually. Ling keeps up his brisk pace even in the blackness, and Al rounds the corner again.

 

"How can you tell where you are?" Ed asks him in a whisper. "I feel like I could live here for years and still be feeling the walls."

 

"Well, I know the palace very well. But I also rely on the dragon's pulse," Ling answers. "I can feel where people are behind the walls. We just passed a series of small rooms with many people asleep, which I know are the maids' quarters, which means your rooms are this way."

 

"Wow," Ed says. "God, that's so cool. Hey Al, how come you can't feel the dragon's pulse yet, huh?"

 

"Well…" Al says.

 

Ed whirls on him. Ling stumbles a little with the shift of weight. "No WAY," he hisses, jabbing an accusatory finger in Al's direction. "Al! That's so unfair! You're way too powerful now!"

 

Al laughs a little. "Well, I mean, I'm not like Ling and Mei. I've only really felt it, like, twice, and that was after a lot of studying and meditating."

 

"And I bet there was some special tea involved, ah?" Ling says, his smirk audible in his voice.

 

_ "Well…" _

 

"My God. My little brother moves to a foreign country, studies alkahestry, takes strange drugs, and learns how to feel the energy of the planet," Ed says, ticking each item off on his fingers. "Meanwhile I'm at home turning into a fucking hermit."

 

"Well, now you're here," Ling says easily. "And we're here also. Al, feel this wall at about shoulder height, there should be an iron ring set into the plaster."

 

Al hands Ed the lamp, and they see the ring immediately. Al gives it a tug. Nothing happens.

 

"A little more spirit, Al," Ling says. "It's still solid plaster, ah? Put some force into it."

 

Al pulls on it again, harder, and the wall swings open creakily, revealing a warmly illuminated room that resembles the one they'd come from. Ed tugs on Ling's hair and Ling lets him down carefully. "I feel like this isn't where I've stayed in the past," Al says, stepping into the room.

 

"It's not," Ling agrees. He and Ed follow Al into the sitting room. "Your bedroom is through the door on the left. Ed's is through the door on the right."

 

"Neat," Ed says, looking around. "Hey, wh—wait, uh, hold on, uh, wait, here: qingwen... weisheng jian zai... nali?"

 

Al winces. Ling stares at him blankly, and Ed can see the little gears turning in his brain as he works through Ed's shit ass Xingese. He opens his eyes wide as he figures out the question, and he covers his mouth as he laughs.

 

"Aww, come on, it wasn't  _ that  _ bad," Ed complains.

 

"It kind of was," Al says, grinning apologetically. "You managed not to hit  _ any  _ of the tones."

 

"Oh, Ed," Ling manages through hysterical giggles, "oh, your accent is so terrible, you're completely unintelligible, I'm gonna die."

 

Ed huffs. "I bet your Amestrian wasn't always this good," he points out.

 

"Uh, yeah, it sucked when I was  _ eight,"  _ Ling snickers. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not making fun of you, it's just extremely cute. It's just, you're not good at everything."

 

Ed feels his ears heat up. Al says, "You know, I'm pretty beat, 'm gonna to bed. Night, guys."

 

"Goodnight, Al," Ling says, still giggling.

 

"Night," Ed says. To Ling he says, "Teasing isn't nice, c'mon, Ling."

 

"Ed, I'm not teasing," Ling says. He covers his mouth again. "You made me so mad when we were kids," he explains in amusement. "You'd do the craziest shit and it would end up fine in the end every time. You sucking at my language is really— I don't know, sweet. Validating."

 

Ed snorts. He turns away and heads to his room so he doesn't have to make eye contact during this conversation. "I don't know what world  _ you  _ live in, but in  _ my  _ world my whole life has just been me fucking up and barely scraping through over and over," he says. "If anything  _ you're  _ the one who kept doing crazy shit and coming out fine."

 

Ling follows, his footsteps silent on the hardwood floor. "Ah, we both came out of it all fucked up," he decides, leaning against the doorframe. "And yet: we made it here."

 

"Yeah," Ed says, looking up at him. "I guess we did." They smile at each other. 

 

Ed wants to say:  _ You think I'm cute?  _ Or:  _ Teasing isn't nice.  _ Or:  _ You think I'm cute.  _

 

What he ends up saying is, "Don't you have to wake up in like, three hours?"

 

Ling groans and slides down the doorframe as if his legs have collapsed under him. "Yes," he whines. "Ed, being emperor is so cool and great and fulfilling and exactly what I want for myself but it also sucks so hard."

 

Ed laughs at him. "Yeah, I bet." He reaches down a hand. "Oy, get off the floor, you pathetic little man. Go to bed."

 

Ling takes his hand and lets himself be pulled upright again. He wobbles exaggeratedly, tipping the crown of his head against Ed's temple. "You're so mean to me," he says tearfully.

 

"Uh huh," Ed says, pushing his shoulders gently. "You can keep harassing me tomorrow. Go sleep, fool."

 

"Yeah, yeah," Ling says, pulling away with a grin. "Okay, fine, I'm going. Goodnight, Ed."

 

"Night, Ling. See you tomorrow."

 

Ling slips back into the secret door and pushes it shut with a quiet  _ snik  _ behind him. Looking at the wall, Ed can't even tell where the door was. He shakes his head and goes back to his room. His bags are already there—presumably they were dropped off by the doormen dudes while they were hanging out in Ling's room. 

 

He looks around. The room is mostly taken up by a large bed with an elaborately carved wooden canopy. Ed sits on it experimentally. The mattress is much firmer than he expected. He's not sure how he feels about that, but he's just about ready to pass out for the next ten hours, so it'll be fine. He wriggles out of his shoes and trousers and has a brief internal debate about whether or not it's worth it to take his whole shirt off. He ends on "yes, probably, you slob," so after a moment of struggling with button holes it joins his trousers on the floor. Actual pajamas are... definitely not happening tonight. 

 

He ends up falling asleep on top of the sheets with the lights on. At some point in the early morning he wakes up and stumbles around the room turning off lamps, and then he climbs under the covers so he can pretend he's a real functioning adult. The sheets are smooth silk in a deep teal color, and they smell faintly like some sort of fragrant wood. Ed rubs his face into the pillow and goes back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c!
> 
> notes and counterfactuals:  
> \- ed asks where the bathroom is and he gets every single accent wrong  
> \- ling's palace is based generally off the imperial palace in the forbidden city in beijing, which IRL is an entirely wooden structure that, lets be real here, probably does have secret corridors, but none that r documented online in an obvious way lmao. i made it partially stone + plaster w secret hallways for plot reasons lol  
> \- ed's bodily soreness brought to you by my friday morning rock climbing class which is extremely fun and cool but also leaves me dying on a regular basis. also he spent his entire youth getting his ass kicked by various adults which... probably doesnt lend itself to inhabiting a pain-free body  
> \- *slaps the roof of edward elric* this bad boy can hold so much [jpeg static voice] projection
> 
> as always u can find me on tumblr @megafaunatic or on twitter @startmagjojos!
> 
> see yall..... NEXT SATURDAY hopefully!!! we've officially caught up to my buffer content bc i wrote 20k words in two weeks in august and now im like.. back to being a senior in college... so........ we'll see wat my update schedule ends up looking like Lol


	8. string bean

 Ed wakes up when someone hurls themself bodily onto the bed beside him. He flails a little instinctively and ends up whacking Al in the face, because of course it's Al. "Ahh, brother, how mean!" Al wails, clutching his nose.

 

Ed sits up groggily. "It's your own fault," he mumbles. "What the hell, what time is it?"

 

"Eight thirty," Al says.

 

Ed scrunches up his face as he does the math. That's, what… five hours? "Oh, no," he decides, "no, I'm going back to sleep, I'm a thousand years old, I need like at least seven hours of sleep."

 

"No, c'mon, everyone is busy and I'm bored," Al protests. "Mei gets in this afternoon, so you can be released to nap then."

 

Ed groans. "Fine. You know your way around this place?"

 

"Sure," Al says.

 

"Then you can take me to the fuckin' bathroom, since  _ fuckin'  _ Ling never answered my question," Ed grumps. He imitates Ling: "Wah wah Ed you're so dumb let me laugh at your shitty accent and not tell you where the facilities are."

 

"No, it was more like, Wah wah Ed your accent is so cute that I got distracted and forgot you were asking a real question," Al corrects, blinking exaggeratedly.

 

"Ah, fuck off," Ed mumbles, pushing his shoulder a little.

 

"Uh huh," Al says. "Anyway, yeah, no, I can show you where the bathroom is." He slides off the bed and wrinkles his nose at Ed. "Also, you should take a bath, you foul creature."

 

Ed grimaces. "Yeah," he agrees. The train had a sort of shower situation, but stuff like that doesn't really count, in Ed's opinion. He grabs his toiletry bag and a change of clothes and follows Al out of the room.

 

"Frankly, I'm surprised Lan Fan let you even hug him," Al continues. "It's like a whole thing, you have to be super duper clean before you appear before the Emperor for anything."

 

"I feel like that's reasonable," Ed says absently, trying to memorize the route Al's taking him. "I guess he's normally all, you know, spruced up. Don't wanna get dirt on his nice robes, or whatever."

 

Al snorts. "Right," he says. "That's another thing for you to know, you shouldn't touch him in public. Like, it's generally less of a normal thing here to be—" he wiggles his fingers vaguely— "physically intimate, or whatever, in public, but especially with Ling."

 

"Huh. Okay," Ed says. "That makes sense." And it does, and it's like, he gets it, but also… isn't pretty much every minute of Ling's life 'in public'? Is that why he likes to sneak out? Ed isn't even  _ that _ physically affectionate, but he can't imagine just  _ never  _ getting to hug his friends. What about high-fives? Are high-fives good?

 

"Mm," Al says. "Okay, this is the bathroom. Don't take too long, okay?"

 

"Yeah, yeah," Ed says. "Gotta entertain my little brother, I gotcha."

 

There's a bit of a learning curve to the way the bath works, but Ed figures it out. Again: the luxury of hot running water. Pinako's and Winry's houses both have hot water because of the automail forges, but a lot of the smaller hotels he and Al had spent so much of their youth in didn't. When Ed emerges squeaky-clean once more he finds Al loitering in the hallway, and he makes sure to squeeze some of the water out of his hair as he braids it so he can flick it at Al's face.

 

"So," he says as Al grimaces at him, "you wanna show me around this place?"

 

"Sure," Al says, perking up. "I'm not super familiar with the palace, you know. But I can show you the gardens and whatever."

 

"Take me to the library!" Ed demands.

 

Al grins at him. "Nah, I'm gonna save that for when Mei gets in," he decides. "Then we can really nerd out."

 

"Hmmm," Ed says. "I'm not sure about that."

 

"Aw, come on, she's cool now. She's barely even mad at you anymore," Al wheedles, as if that's, like, encouraging.

 

"I'm kidding," Ed says anyway. "Fine, library later. What's this about gardens?"

 

"Yeah!! They're really cool. I was surprised by how different Xingese gardens are from Amestrian ones, the philosophy about like what a garden should look like is so different," Al enthuses, already trotting off ahead. 

 

"Uh  _ huh," _ Ed says, skeptical. He honestly has never really given any thought to… gardening… philosophy… before, but actually when they arrive at the first garden, he realizes Al is totally right. Amestrian gardens are more geometrically designed, with rows of shrubs or patterns in the flowers or whatever. But the little courtyard gardens that Al shows him are carefully, artfully natural-seeming, with little hills and mossy stones and stuff.

 

"Wow," Ed says, after the first one. "Kinda thought you were fulla shit, but you've pulled through once again."

 

"Thanks, brother," Al says drily.

 

"Anytime," Ed says.

 

Anyway, Al takes him to a couple other gardens and Ed pokes at plants until they come to a garden with a fish pond and Ed immediately loses the fight against his impulse to try to grab a fish out of the water, which makes Al swat at him and declare the tour over, and then they go back to their little suite and make fun of each other as they unpack. Al still thinks Ed's sense of style is "dumb" and "embarrassing," which is of course true, but listen: sometimes you just have to be the campy goth asshole you want to see in the world. Al, of course, just dresses nicely all the time, probably because he spent five years watching Ed dress Like That without even the option of joining him.

 

"Hey," Ed says, considering this as he hangs yet another tasteful dress shirt in Al's closet. "So when you were in the suit, did you spend any time, like, plotting about what you were gonna wear once you had your body back? Like planning outfits or whatever?"

 

"No?" Al says. "Is—do you do that? Do you daydream about putting together outfits?"

 

"No," Ed says. "No, what? Who does that? That would be so weird. Ha-ha."

 

"Oh my God," Al says.

 

"Listen," Ed says. "I'm a man of many talents. One of them is putting together an outfit that would make a granny clock me as an Amestrian Green Day fan at fifty paces."

 

"God," Al repeats.

  
  


*

  
  


Mei gets in that afternoon, which Ed knows because she kicks his door open and throws a book at his head. He blocks it before it hits him but doesn't quite manage to catch it, which is a bummer because that would have been cool as hell.

 

"Oy!" he squawks at her. "What the hell!"

 

She straightens and crosses her arms over her chest. God, she's like, person-sized now, what the fuck. "Welcome to Xing! It took you long enough to visit!" She says it like an accusation, instead of an observation.

 

"Right, because you're so thrilled to see me now that I  _ am  _ here," Ed says, rolling his eyes.

 

"I haven't bullied you  _ nearly  _ enough," she explains. "My window of time is closing. Once you hit thirty you'll just be old and decrepit and bullying you won't bring me any joy."

 

"I'm  _ twenty-three,"  _ Ed says. "I'm  _ five  _ years older than you, you shitty child."

 

Mei strides over to him and bops him on the head with her fist. Al finally skids into the room.

 

"I found Mei," Ed tells him drily.

 

"How are you  _ so fast,"  _ Al wheezes. 

 

Mei shrugs. "I'm just zippy," she says, as if that explains anything. To Ed she says, "You have a present for me, right?"

 

Ed raises his eyebrows at her. "Yeah, it's called the gift of my time and intellect. Why in the hell would you expect a present from me?"

 

"Al always brings me a present," she sniffs. Al shrugs, like,  _ Guilty. _

 

"Al spoils you rotten," Ed grumbles. "I didn't even bring Ling a present and he's, like, actually my friend."

 

"I'm your friend!" Mei protests.

 

"You're really more like a small, irritating cousin," Ed tells her.

 

"Bet I'm taller than you now," she says. 

 

Ed snorts derisively. "Sure," he says. "Keep dreaming, kid." Mei responds by grabbing his foot and  _ yanking  _ him sideways so he tumbles off the bed. He manages to catch himself before he faceplants on the floor, which gives him time to sweep his legs sideways to knock Mei off her feet. She ends up landing on her ass next to him, glaring daggers. He sticks his tongue out at her.

 

"Why are you  _ like  _ this," Al croaks, holding his head in his hands. "Ed, do you—is it, like, pheromones? You just show up and drive the royal family up the wall?"

 

"His Holiness the Emperor has always been crazy," Mei says. "Our sample size isn't big enough. We need to get  _ all  _ our siblings together and see if Ed makes them lose it too, eh!"

 

"Oh, God," Ed says, "I always forget there's more of you."

 

"Oh, I can never keep count how many of us there are," Mei agrees. "Thirteen, I believe? I think a good quarter are in imperial prison for trying to assassinate me or the Emperor though. So that's convenient."

 

"Shit, is that a serious punishable offense? I gotta get outta this place," Ed jokes, to cover up his concern. That's, what, three siblings? Four? Ed is pretty happy with his current proportion of 1:1 ratio of siblings he has:siblings who haven't tried to kill him yet.

 

Mei rolls her eyes at him. "That was before the coronation so it doesn't count," she explains to him, like he's a child. "It's only a prison offense if it was after the coronation. Otherwise all of us would be screwed."

 

Now it's Ed's turn to clutch his head. "Al, my God, this family," he groans. "Remind me again why I thought it would be fun to come to Xing?"

 

"Because you're a big dummy and anyway our family is, like,  _ way  _ worse," Al says easily. Okay, Ed's gotta give him that.

 

"Anyway," Mei chirps, springing to her feet, "I'm tall now, I have to know if I'm taller than you! Edward Elric!! Get up get up!"

 

"Ai, I'm getting up, good lord," Ed says. Once upright, he's dismayed to find that, oh, no, oh, God, she really is taller than him. By only like half an inch  _ if that,  _ but—still. "No," he moans, dragging his hands down his face. "How the fuck? Who gave you permission to get tall, bean girl? — Hey Al, how come you didn't  _ warn  _ me?"

 

"I wasn't certain," Al says apologetically over Mei's smug cackling. "She's been taller'n'me for a couple years. But I thought you might still have a chance."

 

"I'm ruined," Ed tells him seriously. "Ling was bad enough when we were 15. This is so much worse."

 

Mei strikes a prideful pose. "Our old man, may he rule forever in Heaven, didn't have a lot going for him, but he was pretty tall!" she boasts.

 

Ed shakes his head. "Man, Hohenheim was tall too, this is bull," he grumbles. Al pats his shoulder in sympathy. In fact Ed is only very mildly wounded, and he hopes Al can tell; he hopes his brother knows that Ed's sensitivity over his own height doesn't extend to blaming Al. Mostly it's just, you know, the principle of the thing.

 

"Well, now that you've ruined my day," Ed sighs theatrically to Mei, "you might as well help Al show me around. I hear this joint has some sorta library?"

 

"Oh! Yes! Oh, you're going to lose your mind," Mei assures him. "You little Amestrian nerd, you've never seen so many books on alkahestry in your life."

 

"I'm letting the 'little' slide but only because I'm sure you're right," Ed tells her. "Lead the way, stringbean."

 

Mei poses again. "Yes sir, Major Pipsqueak!" she hoots, which obviously doesn't leave Ed any option but to swat her upside the head. She shrieks in laughter and runs away. Ed and Al scramble after her—Ed so that he doesn't lose track of her immediately in the palace, and Al presumably so that he can prevent too much chaos. Mei slows down once she hits the main hallway, and then the three of them are just walking briskly through the palace trying not to look as wildly out of place as Ed feels they are.

 

The library, it turns out, really is enormous. Xingese is written up-and-down, so the books are mostly in scroll form instead of codices, and the shelves are built to accommodate them: tall and shallow, with backboards on a slight incline. "Whoa," Ed says quietly, peering around. The room is bigger than his house.

 

"Right," Al agrees. "And you know what? This isn't even all of it. The section for books on alkahestry is this way."

 

"Lead on," Ed says, and they do, trotting off into the shelves. Ed peers around corners as he follows, curious and thrilled to be in a library he hasn't memorized the layout of yet. 

 

Three hundred feet of alleys and nooks later, the alkahestry section is expansive; he really  _ hasn't  _ seen this many books on alkahestry in one place. "Multiple shelves," he says in awe.

 

"Multiple  _ bookcases," _ Al agrees. Ed exhales.

 

"Wow, you guys really were deprived," Mei says. "Also, you're huge nerds, you know that, right?"

 

"Yeah, yeah, what should we start with?" Ed asks.

 

"He says 'we' as if Al and I don't have actual work to do," Mei says crankily.  _ "You _ should start with this one," she continues, and scales a ladder to pull down a really old-looking scroll. "You read Jí Wū, right?  _ Exploration of the Foundation of Alkahestric Theory and Practice?" _ Ed nods; that was one of the first books to be translated into Amestrian after everything. "Okay well that guy was smart but Al and I think he was totally wrong about just about everything. Like he knew the shape of it but not the details."

 

"Great," Ed says, frowning. "So that one is…?"

 

"An absolute nut," Mei says, gesturing with the scroll in her hands. "This lady was totally discounted by pretty much everyone around her for years because she said the Dragon's Pulse thing wasn't just a metaphor. Or it is—I mean I don't think there's an actual dragon—but all the scholars thought the dragon just represented the energy of the earth, and Chiang Jie thought it might refer to an actual specific entity."

 

"The Truth," Ed interprets.

 

"Right," Al says. "Alkahestry has a different relationship to the Truth than alchemy does, but surely it's involved somehow, right?"

 

"Right," Mei says. "Anyway, that's why this scroll is so old is because no one thought her work was worth reproducing until now." She descends again and holds the scroll out to Ed with both hands and says, cheerfully, "If you damage it in any way I'll tear your arm back off."

 

"Note taken," he says, taking the scroll from her carefully. 

 

"Mhm," Mei says. "Anyway, Al, the books we ordered last time came in, d'you want to take a look?"

 

"Yeah!!" Al says, hopping in place in his exuberance.

 

"Oy, you aren't going to help read this thing?" Ed asks. Al looks at him, eyebrows drawing together apologetically.

 

"Not, like… thoroughly?" he tries. "I thought, you know, you could use a dictionary… It'll be good practice for you to translate more Xingese, and—and anyway you like codes, right? It's like a really complicated code!"

 

Ed makes an exaggerated frowny face at him. "There's a difference between a code and a language, Al, come on. What are you guys doing, can I help?"

 

Mei and Al exchange a Look and Ed's heart sinks. "The new books are cutting-edge contemporary theory," Mei says. "They're building off centuries of people arguing about alkahestry that you don't really even know the basics of."

 

"Oh," Ed says, crestfallen.

 

"Also, they're in Xingese too," Al says, grimacing in sympathy.

 

Ed sighs. "Okay, I get the picture," he says gloomily. "I'll sit here struggling through page one of Alkahestry For Babies while you two commune with your peers. I won't hold you back."

 

"Uh huh," Al says, rolling his eyes. He pushes at Ed's shoulder. "Xingese isn't hard, brother. You'll be fine. And we'll be right here if you can't figure something out."

"Alright," Ed says skeptically. "Let's see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HELLO SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG and this chapter is so short... midterm season was upon me... wah wah
> 
> notes and counterfactuals  
> \- originally the garden part was several paragraphs longer and then i realized it was actually just me infodumping about Landscape Studies and that in fact even i did not find that interesting in the context of a fic so i trimmed it way down. wheezes  
> \- do i try to keep the culture + technology in this universe more or less analogous to irl 1920s technology and culture? yes. is it part of my creative philosophy that it's good to break your own rules if breaking the rules is really funny? ABSOLUTELY. hence: amestrian green day  
> \- *book studies nerd voice* the form u might normally think of as being "what a book looks like" is actually specifically the form of a codex! eg, "a bunch of rectangular sheets of paper sandwiched between two stiff covers, bound on one side." a book is the actual contents, regardless of what that looks like - it's still a book if it's written as a scroll, or if it lives inside your computer or phone ,':3c  
> \- i think that like.. considering alchemy and alkahestry as living fields of study that are sort of scientific and sort of spiritual is really cool!! academia is good sometimes  
> \- i essentially just pulled the scholars' names out of a hat but i was thinking of chiang jie as a cantonese name specifically (as opposed to mandarin, like jí wū) which In My Heart Where The Subtext Lives was part of her being written off as a wackjob, and also part of why mei picked her book up in the first place. like canonese and mandarin per se dont exist in this universe because Different World but u kno. fantasy cantonese  
> \- I'm Love Mei Chang  
> \- no worries also xiao mei is still kickin she'll show up at some point


End file.
